


Best Served Cold

by Nomme_de_Plume



Series: The Pursued, the Pursuing - AU [20]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 02:32:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4083307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomme_de_Plume/pseuds/Nomme_de_Plume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years after 'All Happy Families', lives have begun and ended, lovers have come together and parted, and old grudges haven't been forgotten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_March, 1935_

“I don’t like this,” Theon Greyjoy muttered to Robb Stark. The two men were in the latter's office staring across the open, brick-walled room that made up their division of the Kingsport Police Department. On the other side of the room, a door was tightly closed. They could see vague shadowy figures through the frosted glass, but little else. An hour ago, Stannis Baratheon, newly sworn-in Mayor of Kingsport, had ushered a slight, plain-looking man into the office without a word to Theon, Robb, or any of the other officers.

Robb leaned back in his office chair, sipping coffee out of the beloved, hideous fish mug he’d had for longer than Theon could remember. Six years ago, they’d both been promoted to sergeants, and Theon had been thrilled. He was pretty sure he was the first Greyjoy to receive a legitimate promotion ever. Then, four years ago when Robb had been promoted to Lieutenant and moved into an empty office, Theon had hidden the mug in his bottom desk drawer for the better part of a month. It had been petty and stupid, sure, but he had been feeling snubbed. He and Robb had worked the same amount of time on the same cases, had put the same amount of blood, sweat and tears into it, but it was still Robb that got that little silver bar to pin on his chest while Theon was left behind. Hell, Theon had put _far_ more blood into it. Eleven years ago he’d almost died at the hands of a madman, or had Barristan Selmy forgotten?

Even now, all these years later, Theon knew that if he’d argued about that fact he’d just be told that he’d broken protocol, gone out searching for clues as to who’d been killing prostitutes alone in his personal vehicle. _They wouldn’t tell me I brought it on myself but it’d be implied. You broke the rules._ He hadn’t had much time to think on what the repercussions of his actions would be at the time - within months of the whole Bolton debacle he’d found himself rushed to the altar where his pregnant, teenaged bride awaited. _Aw, c’mon. She was nearly 20_. That whole time, from the day he’d met Mya, to the day a little over two years later when their second son was born, had been something of a whirlwind. By the time the dust had settled the Theon Greyjoy that emerged was so vastly different than the one who’d gone into it he hardly recognized himself.

Theon had never imagined himself as a family man, not even after his youngest, Alyce, was born. He’d never imagined himself with a nine-to-five job, a paid-off mortgage, coming home to the same woman for more than a week at a time. He used to see an early, unvisited grave, a life that amounted to nothing more than a smear on the sidewalk.

Apparently all the change wasn’t enough for everyone, and it was Robb who was in charge of him now. He didn’t blame Robb, not at all. They were as close as ever, their children as close as siblings. Robb and Roslin had five to his and Mya’s three, and more often than not they gathered on weekends. They’d vacation together at Winterfell in the summers, and holidays and birthdays were always a large production.

Theon shoved thoughts of his family and Robb’s aside, focusing on the door across the precinct. “I don’t like this at all,” he said again.

Robb made a noncommittal noise. “What’re you gonna do about it though? We both knew Selmy wasn’t going to hang around forever. He worked on the force for over 40 years. He earned his retirement. Him and Uncle Bryn both.”

Theon snorted. Robb’s uncle Brynden had given up his private investigation business the year prior, and he and Selmy had left Kingsport and its cold, hard winters for the boozy tropical paradise that was the Southern Isles. Last Theon had heard, they were sharing a house boat and spending their days fishing in the mangrove swamps. It sounded idyllic, to be honest. It was something he could see himself and Robb doing someday, once they got old and fat too. They’d spend their days catching sea bass while Roslin and Mya doted on their grandchildren...he shook his head. _Listen to you. You used to think you wouldn’t make it to the age of 30_.

Regardless of how old Theon thought he’d live to be, Barristan Selmy’s departure had left a void in the police department. He’d been a very prominent member of the police force for 40 years, and in charge of the entire operation since Ned Stark’s death over a decade before. There had been a lot of speculation as to who would fill his shoes now. Personally Theon was surprised Robb hadn’t gotten the position. He bore the Stark name and the same stern, strong bearing his father did, and he was the department’s golden boy. His office walls were covered with framed newspaper stories and awards.

All the speculation had been replaced with indignation when the Mayor himself appointed one of his own men to the position. He was some stooge named Seaworth, someone who’d never even seen the police academy and had little to no experience on the force. There were rumors he’d even been on the wrong side of the law for most of his life. _Where do you get off, Greyjoy? So what if he’s got a few black marks next to his name? Half the force does and Hell, you’re one of the worst_.

Across the precinct room, the office door opened. Stannis Baratheon, as gaunt and stone-faced as Theon had ever seen him, beckoned Robb. “Lieutenant Stark, if you would?”

Even though Stannis hadn’t said word one to Theon, he followed his friend across the room. Stannis planted bony, hard fingers in his chest. “Not you, Greyjoy. Stark’s the highest-ranking officer in this precinct, not you.”

“I’m second-highest.” Theon jutted out his jaw. Stannis might be his wife’s uncle but they were by no means family. The fact that Mya was, by the traditional definition, a bastard, made Stannis hesitant to interact with her beyond a cool, professional way. It didn’t bother Theon any; the less he saw of Stannis Baratheon, the better. “Whatever you’re sayin’ to Stark, you’re gonna say to me.”

Next to him he heard Robb’s barely audible groan. Stannis stood a hair straighter, his jaw clenched so tight Theon thought the bone might crack. “I don’t recall agreeing to take orders from you when I was sworn in, Sergeant Greyjoy.”

Robb stepped forward, raising a hand. “Theon doesn’t mean any disrespect, Mr. Mayor. But Selmy usually would include the both of us in his briefings before he left. Maybe, for the time being, we could continue that.”

Stannis’s blue eyes flicked over Robb before he glanced over his shoulder. The plain-looking man, presumably Seaworth, was sitting at the bare desk, looking as out of place as a whore in church.

“Fine,” Stannis said abruptly. “Don’t make your attitude a habit with me, Greyjoy.”

Theon didn’t respond, but merely followed Robb into the office. It was the first time he’d been in it since Selmy had left some months before, and it was strange to see it so barren. When Selmy had been there, there had been various awards on the wall, a prized potted rose, a few mounted fish, a mess of paper on the desk. When it had been Ned Stark’s space it had been much the same. Now the walls were bare with faint squares on the wall showing where awards and pictures had hung. The empty desk looked too small in the space, as did the man sitting at it.

“Davos Seaworth,” he said as he stood, extending a hand. When Theon shook it he fought off a jolt - the man was missing the ends of the fingers on his right hand. Other than that, his hand was rough and calloused in a familiar way, and his skin had the sunworn, leathery look of a man who spend some time on the water. Small lines crinkled around his eyes, and there was something in his efficient, quick manner that made Theon feel more at ease with the man. “Please, have a seat. I’ve gone around the other precincts and spoken to Captains Trant, Dondarrion, and Oakheart, and I’d like for you to hear what I have to say.

“I don’t expect you or anyone to be pleased with my appointment,” he started. “I know my experience is...lacking, compared to yours, Stark, or Trant, Dondarrion, or Oakheart. Any one of you could, and should be sitting in this chair.”

Theon bit his tongue while Robb folded his hands. “It was Mayor Baratheon’s decision, and as public servants, we respect it.”

“Very diplomatic of you.” Davos offered a quick, tight smile. “Now, as I did with the other precincts, I wanted to give the highest ranking officer...well, _officers_ a run-down of Mr. Baratheon’s and my plans for the department.” He looked to Stannis.

“Under my brother, his wife, Tywin Lannister, Barristan Selmy, and even Ned Stark, this city has fallen into reckless lawlessness. It’s been nearly twenty years of lax enforcement, a lack of progress, and immoral actions on all their parts.” Stannis paced back and forth as he preached, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked like a headmaster lecturing misbehaving students, his suit so sharply pressed Theon saw the crease in his pants actually going down the exact middle of a pinstripe. “Good leadership involves trust. There has been a rampant lack of that as well, which is something I mean to rectify. I’ve been making appointments to my cabinet of people that I trust, and that includes Davos Seaworth.”

_Reckless lawlessness_. The words bounced around Theon’s skull while Stannis droned on. He wondered what Stannis would say if he knew how much reckless lawlessness Theon had been up to. Ever since the Volstead Act had been repealed, Theon had lost his second job as a bootlegger. He’d thought the loss of that income would hurt, but in no time at all he’d fallen into another occupation for the Greyjoys: wet work. Theon was no stranger to killing for his family, and it hardly affected him anymore. The hits were never random, they were never gratuitous. A carefully lined up headshot, and Theon had a thick roll of cash in his pocket. He had his rules, of course. No women, no children, nothing in public. Mya was fully aware of what he did, but he’d told her that he was only killing people who deserved it. It was true, for the most part. She never asked questions. She’d learned that lesson long ago.

His uncle Euron had been exiled to Europe since 1925, but he was by no means suffering. Asha was in constant contact with him, and last Theon had heard he was living in a swanky, well-appointed apartment in Berlin. After years of trying, Theon had been unable to extract himself from his uncle’s grasp. As a result, he knew entirely too much about what his family was into now. Euron had a new set of friends, a group that Theon, his sister, and his even other uncles were uncomfortable acknowledging.

War was coming in Europe, and it was coming soon. Mya would fret about it at night after their boys had gone to bed, telling Theon she wanted it to come sooner rather than later so Rodrik and Quenton would be too young to enlist. Theon wasn’t _that_ worried. No Greyjoy had ever enlisted, and he doubted his sons would be the first. The closet to military service any of them had ever come was what Euron was doing now - smuggling rare, priceless artwork out of Europe as part of a business arrangement with the German government and military. Euron and his associates claimed it was to save these treasures, to keep them safe from the simmering war that was soon to explode, but that all rang false with Theon. He knew Euron didn’t give two left shits about the horror stories that were starting to emerge from Europe, so long as he could still line his pockets with the profits.

Robb shifted in his chair, making it squawk loudly. Theon started, trying to look like he’d been paying attention to what Stannis had been going on about the entire time. Stannis was looming over them, his eyes sapphire chips boring out of black holes. They were the same color as Mya’s but they were so different, so much colder. Theon fought off a shiver.

“Lieutenant Stark, I expect you to assist Chief Seaworth as he works to expand the police force, and to make sure the rest of the department complies with any new policies.” Unless Theon was imagining things, Stannis’s cold eyes flicked to him briefly. “That will be all.”

Theon followed Robb back to his office, flinging himself in the chair opposite Robb’s desk and propping his heels up on the cluttered surface. “I got a few new policies for ol’ Uncle Stan right here,” he said.

Robb shot him an exasperated look as his phone started to ring. “Lieutenant Star-...Rosie, what-... _how_ many? How’d they get in there?” Theon watched while the concern in Robb’s face melted away to humor. “Alright, calm down. I’ll talk to the boys when I get home and- yes. I’ll call one. Right away. I promise. I love you too.”

Theon raised his eyebrows as Robb hung up the phone, rested his forehead on his desk, and burst out laughing. It was a loud, infectious, ringing laugh. “What?” When Robb didn’t respond, Theon rapped him on the head with a stack of papers. “Stark, what?”

Robb finally raised his head, eyes streaming. “You remember a few weeks back when Rod and Quent came over, they and my boys were playing down in your old cabin?” Theon nodded. “I guess they found an egg sac from a spider or something and hid it in Beth’s closet without telling anyone.”

Theon grinned. Three of Robb and Roslin’s five children were girls, God help him. Beth was six and just as bossy as her mother. Catie, at five, was more timid and sweet. She reminded Theon of Sansa. The two girls were fast friends with his own five-year-old daughter Alys. The three of them would often dote on the youngest Stark, baby Lya. “And?”

“Well, today when she got home from school she and Catie went up to her room to play, and they opened her closet, and hundreds of daddy longlegs just came pourin’ out on both of them.”

Theon guffawed, even though his skin was crawling. “I can imagine the screams. Must’ve busted every window in the house.”

“Close. Rosie threw them both in the bath and got as many spiders as she could with the vacuum, but she’s insisting on calling an exterminator.”

Theon sighed, but pulled out his wallet. Taking out a few bills, he tossed them on the desk. “I suppose I owe for half of it, since it was probably Rodrik’s idea.” His oldest was nine, as temperamental and headstrong as any boy could be. Mya worried he was a bad influence on Quenton and Robb’s boys, Eddie and Bobby. Theon wasn’t concerned. Boys, after all, would be boys. When Robb tried to wave off his money, Theon shook his head. “Take it. I’ll make mine pay me back through hard labor. Mya gave me a To-Do list three miles long for this weekend. It’ll keep them busy enough.”

Robb grinned widely and shoved Theon’s feet off his desk. “If your schedule’s open then, there’s an exhibition game this weekend. Lions and Giants, Saturday afternoon.”

“Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jacks.” Theon propped his feet right back where they were, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll pass on the spiders though.”

“Y’know, I almost wish I was there to see that.” Robb chuckled. “I know I’ll have to punish the boys but damn if that doesn’t sound like something we would’ve done when we were young.”

“Young. Fuck. I’d do that now. In fact, I’d bet you there’s a few spider nests in the garage. What d’you say we surprise Mya or Rosie with one?”

“I say Mya’ll have your balls in a jar in her purse if you d...o...that…” Robb blanched visibly as he focused on the doorway behind Theon. He cleared his throat. “Mr. Mayor. Chief Seaworth.”

Behind his neatly trimmed beard Seaworth was fighting off a grin, but Stannis’s gaze was so hard and cold that it made Theon’s testicles feel like they were filled with shaved ice. He found himself unable to meet it for more than a few seconds. _Thank God Mya didn’t inherit that_.

“Lieutenant.”

“Sergeant Greyjoy and I were just...ah…” Robb coughed. Theon raised his eyebrows, biting back laughter at the flush creeping up his face. “Doing some follow-up on a case.”

Stannis didn’t buy it, not in the slightest, but he merely nodded sharply at Seaworth before turning on his heel and leaving. The new chief waited until the precinct doors had shut before speaking. “The Lions had a shit season last year, but they’ve pulled a bunch of boys up from the minors. I’d say they stand a decent chance at the pennant this year.”

Theon and Robb glanced at each other before Robb replied. “They better’ve brought some coaches with them, and a new bullpen too. You’re a fan?”

“I am.” Seaworth nodded. “Two of my boys are in the minor league, another three are playing in high school, and the last two are in little league.”

“Seven?” Theon was slightly incredulous. “You’ve got seven boys and they all play a sport that involves a bat? Jesus, Stark and I almost brought his house to the ground with just the two of us.”

Davos chuckled. “Their ma can swing a bat as good as any of ‘em, rest assured.” He clasped his hands together. Theon couldn’t drag his eyes away from the man’s mauled hand, and he wondered what had happened there. “I appreciate you takin’ the Mayor’s talk as well as you have. I know I’ve got a long, bumpy road ahead of me and I’ll need all the help I can get.”

It was getting harder and harder to dislike Davos Seaworth, but Theon wasn’t about to admit that out loud. He’d let Robb, and sure enough, it was Robb who spoke.

“Selmy was in charge for a long time here, as was my father before him. With every shift in command, there’s always a little pushback. We’ll get everyone on board, don’t worry.”

“Mayor Baratheon is a...determined man.” Davos said. “He’s going to make this city an honest, clean place, and he’s going to start with this department. It’s not going to be pretty.”

Robb’s eyes met Theon’s over the desk, and the two men grinned. Theon was thinking of his decade of past deeds - the intimidation, destroying evidence, leading questions, the meaty snap of Mace Tyrell’s neck, lying under oath, smudging, ignoring, and outright breaking almost every law he’d come across. _The assassinations_. There was a field upstate, some boggy, flat wetland just north of nowhere and God help the Greyjoys if anyone ever started digging around up there. It was chock-full of bodies or, if Theon was being honest, body parts. It was a favorite dumping ground of his. Something about the acidity of the bog made the bodies dissolve faster than they would if they were just buried. A few remains had popped up over the years, but as far as Theon knew, they’d been written off as animal bones.

He smiled grimly at Davos. “I bet I’ve seen uglier.”

\------

Later that evening the small Greyjoy clan gathered in the kitchen for dinner. Theon was glad to  let the warmth of the kitchen seep into him. It wasn’t a big room; none of the rooms in their East Side brownstone were, but it was a bright, clean space. It had been somewhat drab when they’d bought the house - the walls were a dingy non-color and the cabinets were just ugly. Mya had re-done it herself one day while Theon was at work. She’d called her brother to help, and when Theon had come home the dull, colorless walls were a soft, cheery yellow, the cabinets and table a bright petal white. Even though there was a formal dining room, it was rarely used. Everyone seemed to gravitate towards the small, light kitchen. Theon didn’t care where he ate dinner; as long as he was at the head of his table, he could’ve eaten in the middle of the road during rush hour.

Tonight Mya had made a thick stew of chicken and dumplings with crusty, hot bread. It was the perfect meal for this damp, dreary night. The entire drive home, the sky had been thick with wooly grey clouds and the occasional fat raindrop on his windshield. Tonight would be a good night to stay inside...which reminded Theon of something.

“So your Uncle Robb got a call from Aunt Rosie today.” He said casually to his sons. Sitting across from each other at the table, Rodrik and Quenton’s eyes briefly met. 8-year-old Quenton’s fair cheeks turned pink, and Rodrik smirked around a mouthful of dumpling. He was the spit of Theon - lanky, surly, with the same sharp grey eyes he had. Rodrik and Alyce both had the same coal-black hair their parents did, but Quenton...after Quent was born Robb had joked he was the milkman’s. He’d never admit it, but Theon had thought there might have been a bit of truth to that. They’d still been living at the cottage at Riverrun then, and the milkman  _did_ have the same cornsilk blonde hair. One night he’d suggested it to Mya, half-jokingly. With no small degree of acidity, she’d reminded him that her mother had fair hair, as did his. That had been the end of that.

“That reminds me, I need to ask if we can foist these three off on them next Friday.” Mya was saying absentmindedly. “What’d she say?”

“Ask your sons.”

Mya’s dark eyebrows arched slightly. Her face took on a stern, familiar look that Theon swore she’d lifted straight out of Catelyn Stark’s arsenal. “Boys?”

Quenton broke first, as Theon knew he would. He was always so eager to please everyone, especially Mya. “It was Rod’s idea!”

“Quenton!” Rodrik hissed from across the table. “You promised you wouldn’t snitch!”

Theon sat back in his chair and just watched. Mya set her spoon down, her look intensifying. He loved when Mya was yelling at people who weren’t him. “What was Rodrik’s idea?”

Quenton glanced at his brother and shied away from the razor-sharp glare he was getting. “Puttin’ a spider nest in Beth’s closet,” he mumbled.

“Putting a-” Mya’s jaw dropped. Alyce caught Theon’s eye and giggled; he winked as Mya went on. “ _Why_?”

Quenton remained silent, and Rodrik offered a sullen shrug. “Thought it’d be funny.”

Mya closed her eyes, and Theon knew she was counting to ten. He cleared his throat. “Your ma and I have to pay for half the cost to have an exterminator take care of that infestation. Those aren’t cheap. You’re both old enough to know better, so here’s how it’s going to go. You both owe us a debt and you’re going to work it off, starting tonight. After dinner, you’re both going straight outside to clean out the garage, for starters.”

“But it’s gonna rain!” Quenton’s chin was starting to quiver, his big blue eyes welling up. “And the Junkyard Avenger’s on tonight!”

“Alyce and I will listen to your program and she’ll take notes. You’ll be in the garage. And if you get wet, then you get wet. Then tomorrow, the basement needs cleaning up. Once that’s done, you can wash and wax the car, then start on the all the branches that fell in the yard over the winter.” Theon kept his gaze on his sons, one indignant, one nearly in tears. Judging by the way Mya’s eyes were burning holes in the side of his face he knew she recognized the items on his to-do list. _So what? One way or another it gets done_. “Once all that’s done, we’ll see where we stand.”

Rodrik glared with all the intensity in his 9-year-old body. Theon recognized the way his jaw clenched, the dark anger in his grey eyes. _‘One day you’ll have a son who’s just like you’. Isn’t that what the cook at Riverrun always said when you’d knick sweet rolls? God help you when Rodrik discovers girls. You and Mya’ll be grandparents before you’re 40 if he’s anything like you_.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that, pal, we’ll add another month of hard labor on to your sentence.” Inside Theon was downright gleeful. He’d spent his entire life taking punishment from other people. It always felt good to dish some out on someone else. “Now eat your dinner.”

\------

The rain held off until after the boys had finished with the garage and had stumbled into bed, dusty and grumpy. Hours after that it drummed on the roof as Theon reclined on his own bed in his boxers, an arm folded behind his head. Mya sat at her vanity in nothing but her slip, her makeup scrubbed off, her hair unpinned. It fell over her shoulders, glossy and black as the day they’d met. She brushed it now, glancing at him in her mirror. “What?”

He shook his head. Sometimes he just liked to look at her, and in their eleven years together she never understood it. He loved when she took off her warpaint at the end of the day and let her hair down. She looked softer, younger, more like the Mya he’d fallen in love with. “Nothin’. I got a visit from your uncle today?”

Mya rolled her eyes as she unscrewed a jar of lotion. “I bet he was a barrel of laughs.”

“More than usual. He’s appointed a new Chief and he’s completely green. Never even seen the Academy, I’d guess.” Theon stuffed his pillow behind his head, his eyes travelling down Mya’s lean legs as she rubbed lotion into him. “He seems nice enough but I’m amazed we couldn’t see your uncle fiddling with his strings.”

“Well, you know how he is.” Mya stood and peeled her slip off. In just her underwear, she crossed the room and dug under her pillow for the oversized men’s pajamas top she loved so much. “What’s this fella’s name?”

“Davos Seaworth.” Theon scratched his chest. “Remind me, he said he’s got some boys in the minor leagues. I wanna look them up.”

“Sure.” Mya tilted her head slightly, her eyes sharpening in a way Theon knew far too well. “Where’s he from?”

She tried to keep her tone casual but Theon shook his head. “Nope. Uh-uh. You’re not allowed to interview me, doll. That’s our deal, remember? There’ll be a press release in a few days.”

“I wasn’t interviewing you.” Mya flopped onto the bed. She drew her knees up to her chest and adopted a look of such innocence Theon almost laughed. “I’m simply being curious about new developments at your job, is all.”

“Oh _sure_ , Mrs. Greyjoy.” Theon reached over and tweaked her nose. “Just like you were simply curious about that budget excess a few years back?”

“I cited you as an anonymous source!” Mya nipped at his finger. “And I didn’t report a single thing that wasn’t the truth, now did I.” She curled against his side, draping a leg over his. “I do need you to do me a favor though.”

“Oh do you?” The way her leg was rubbing against his was making Theon start to wonder what he’d have to do to get Mya out of those pajamas. He had no idea what she was buttering him up for, but he always had admired her persuasion techniques.

“Mmm-hmmm.” Now she was trailing her fingers along his stomach, inching lower and lower. “I need you to make sure your tux still fits.”

The fluttering that had started in his stomach died with a flop. “Why?”

“Because next Friday you and your gorgeous, intelligent wife are going to a black-tie reception for the Dornish ambassador, who is coming to Kingsport.”

Theon wrinkled his nose. “Doran Martell? He’s been the ambassador for years. What’s it, his birthday or something?”

“No, we’re getting a new one. Doran’s health is keeping him from travelling as much as the job dictates, so we’re getting his brother, Oberyn.”

“So...shouldn’t this be covered by the social or political columns instead of the crime one?” Theon looped some of Mya’s hair around a finger. “Unless you’re anticipating trouble?”

“Our gossip writer’s out sick, so I volunteered to do a little write-up for it.” Mya trailed feather-light kisses across his scarred chest. “It’s been awhile since we’ve had a fancy-dress date.”

Theon watched her head bob across his torso. “I might need some more convincing...”

She nipped at his chest before straddling his hips. “A happy wife is a grateful wife, Detective. Don’t make me force you to shine your shoes.”


	2. Chapter 2

The Ambassador’s Welcome was held at Kingsport’s art museum, in its massive new Tenth Wing. The high arched ceilings were made of leaded glass, soaring over the wide gallery. The city lights glittered through the glass like stars. Enormous crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, throwing bright spectrums of light over the priceless works of art filling the space. The wide gallery was filled with round tables surrounding a large dance floor. Each was covered in deep red and orange tablecloths, shot through with gold thread. They bore 3-foot-tall floral centerpieces festooned with crystals, feathers, and delicate gold chains. Small tea candles lit the centerpieces from the tabletops, catching off the crystals and chains and making the whole room glitter. A full-sized band was set up along one alcove, playing the most popular music of the day, as well as old classics and what Mya could only assume were modern takes on traditional Dornish songs. Somewhere in the museum, dinner was being prepared. Heady, spicy scents wafted through the air alongside the music and made Mya’s stomach rumble. _Alyce would love all this sparkle._

A few hundred of Kingsport’s elite milled around the gallery, weaving between tables and waving flutes of champagne and exotic-looking drinks around while they laughed at each others’ unfunny jokes. Mya lingered near an ancient Volantene statue, raising her own champagne to her lips as she watched Theon cross the crowded room towards her. He held a small plate of hors d'oeuvres in one hand, and seemed oblivious to the eyes moving over him. Mya smiled to herself as he neared. Theon still cut a handsome figure in his well-fitting tuxedo. He was one of the lucky men who seemed to grow more handsome as they got older. The prematurely graying hair around his temples only added to his appeal. He hadn’t lost his overly-confident, sometimes cocky, swagger, and he smiled sharply as he leaned on the pillar next to where Mya was standing.

“They’re not serving dinner until Ambassador What’s-His-Tits is introduced, so I talked a waitress into a few extra hors d’oeuvres.” Theon winked at her. “I figured you didn’t eat lunch today, did you.”

Mya couldn’t lie, not when her stomach was grumbling the way it was. She took a piece of spiced melon wrapped in prosciutto and tried not to devour it whole. “I ran out of time.”

Mya usually ran out of time when it came to meals. Shortly after Rodrik’s birth, she’d decided she didn’t want to surrender the career she’d worked so hard for, so she’d gone back to work. After Quenton’s was born, and then Alyce, Mya’s schedule grew more and more hectic. She found herself thriving on it, and by the time the children were in school, a strict routine had emerged from her own personal chaos. She rose before dawn every morning, and after getting ready for work, she prepared lunches for the children and caught the early bus downtown. It was a habit to arrive at her desk by six, which allowed her several hours of a cool, calm quiet before the rest of the newspaper staff arrived. The best part of starting her day so early was that most times, she was able to be home in time for her children to return from school. She spent her Saturday mornings strolling the farmer’s markets and grocers with Rosie, and the afternoons preparing meals she’d store in the icebox so her family would have home-cooked meals. Rosie would shake her head, tsk-ing at Mya and telling her she could just hire a housekeeper and save herself a lot of time.

Mya had only shrugged while examining some apples. She didn’t mind. She liked being busy.

Several years ago, Garlan Tyrell had moved his growing family out of Kingsport to pursue his love of wine and start a vineyard. Mya had inherited his editor’s position by default; the crime section had always just been the two of them.  When word broke of her promotion, she’d become the subject of gossip around the city, and had even been the target of a scathing editorial from a women’s magazine that stated that she left her children to raise themselves. They were feral little beasts, the article had said, citing Rodrik’s admittedly thick disciplinary file at St. Anne’s and the well-known Greyjoy predilection towards violence and shady activities. The editorial had then gone on to suggest that the _Lantern_ , and Mya individually, be held responsible for any recent uptick in petty crime in the city. Margaery had been livid when the column was published, spitting out words like ‘litigation’, ‘libel’ and ‘invasion of privacy of a minor’’. Mya had framed it and hung it in her office.

A few weeks after her promotion, Mya had come into work one morning to find a pair of young, bulky men with identical soft, freckled faces and carrot-orange hair waiting outside her office. They were distant cousins of Margaery, Horace and Hobber Redwyne. Margaery had apologized to Mya later that morning - the boys had decided they wanted to follow other, more prominent members of their family into the journalism career. Margaery’s grandmother, Olenna, had foisted the twins onto Margaery, who in turn foisted them onto Mya. They weren’t bad at their jobs, per se, they just weren’t good at them either. If they put their heads together, they could almost write a mediocre article on a few bank robberies on the outskirts of the city. Almost. Mya had had little choice other than to send them, together, to the precinct houses to collect the information for the police blotter. They weren’t allowed to write the blotter yet, but maybe someday. For now, she was debating letting them order her lunch every once in awhile.

Mya had also never been able to tell them apart, and had even tried to color code them by their clothing. It hadn’t worked. Theon thought it was hilarious, especially since he had no problem differentiating them when he stopped into her office. Horace and Hobber weren’t at the gala tonight, not that Mya could see, and she relaxed a little. “I should mill or socialize or something. It won’t be a very interesting article if I just stand here like a bump on a log.”

Theon wrapped an arm around her waist, tracing small circles against her hip. “Stay a minute. Did I ever tell you how much I like this dress?”

Mya was surprised. Her dress was a long, bias-cut midnight blue piece with a high neck, sheer sleeves with a delicate lace applique, and a sheer back. It was one of her favorites, and it was one of the more conservative dresses in the room tonight. “Do you?”

“Mmm-hmm. It’s...stern. But in a good way. Reminds me of the nun that taught algebra at St. Anne’s.” Theon swallowed his champagne. “Did I mention there’s a coat room? Very sizeable. Quiet. Full of coats.”

“A coat check full of coats? How novel.” Mya laughed, but didn’t pull away.  “I’m working, Detective. Remember?”

“You can take a break. C’mon, dove. Five, ten minutes. That’s all I need.”

“Wait till we get home. It took me hours to get my hair to look this nice and you’ll mess it up.” Mya straightened Theon’s tie and smoothed her hands over his shoulders. Over his shoulder she spied a familiar figure and sighed under her breath. “Here we go.”

“Hm?” Theon craned his head around. Mya heard him chuckle.

Margaery Tyrell stood before them, hipshot, wrapped in a clingy gold sheath and clearly, nothing underneath. Mya had never asked how old Margaery was, but she knew she had to be in her late 30s. Looking at her, you’d never know. Her body was as flawless as it ever had been, her skin creamy and glowing. Her chestnut hair spilled over one shoulder, brushing the side of her breast. A long lariat of pearls hung around her neck, and she twirled it around a finger as she smiled at Mya and Theon.

“What are you doing over here on the fringes? I’ve been looking for you! Are you enjoying yourselves?” Margaery snagged a glass of champagne off a passing waiter. “There’s someone I’ve been wanting you to meet. Hold on just a tic…” Margaery vanished back into the crowd.

Theon brushed a kiss across Mya’s neck. “She can come with us to the coat closet.”

Mya laughed, digging an elbow into Theon’s side. “Don’t be crude. Besides, you know I don’t like to share. Margaery’s been going on about this new man of hers for weeks now. I’m curious.”

“Oh, she’s got a new one every month, doesn’t she?”

“She does. Widowhood keeps her busy.” Mya watched Margaery move through the crowd. Her uncle Renly, Margaery’s husband, had died seven or eight years ago when his brake lines mysteriously burned through. His car had careened off a dark country road and had wrapped around a century oak. His death had come as a shock to the entire city. The handsome, wealthy, charismatic media mogul had just announced his candidacy for mayor and was considered a shoo-in. His announcement came at the same time as that of his older brother, Stannis. After his Renly’s death, rumors had flown that Stannis was bitterly jealous over Renly’s popularity, and the darker ones implied that he was responsible for Renly’s brakes failing. In the end, it hadn’t mattered. Cersei Lannister had somehow defeated Stannis in that election. Stannis had retreated to his country estate for several years while Cersei, and then her father Tywin ruled at City Hall. In 1934, he’d run an aggressive, dirty campaign against the incumbent Tywin, and had decimated him.

Try as she might, Mya was unable to drum up much genuine emotion about Renly’s death. She’d only known him a few years, and he was more of a work supervisor than her blood relative. Of course she was shocked, but once that had worn off, she was fine. Margaery had taken his death with the numb grace that was expected of her, withdrawing from the social scene for nearly a year. Once that year was up, she’d started enjoying herself. She had no intention of remarrying, and had spent the past few years enjoying the company of a different man every few weeks. She regularly graced the society pages of most of the magazines and newspapers in Kingsport and the Tri-State area. Margaery had always been a clever woman, as far as Mya could tell, and deftly reflected the spotlight off of her and onto the _Lantern_. As a result, the newspaper was flourishing. It had the highest readership numbers in the area, and was being distributed all across the country.

Now, Margaery was approaching again, pulling a tall man behind her. Next to Mya, Theon snickered, then bit back a guffaw as Mya’s jaw dropped. As Margaery got closer, it was clear the ‘man’ was little more than a boy. His broad shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist, and the smile on his handsome, boyish face was at once bashful and charming. His golden hair was neatly combed, and his tuxedo fit as if it had been made for him. _Knowing Margaery, it probably was_.

Margaery was smiling so cattily that Mya was amazed she didn’t have feathers sticking out from between her teeth. “Mya, Theon, this is my...friend, Tommen Baratheon.”

Mya extended her hand as the gears in her head ground to life. Tommen’s name rang a faint bell, but she couldn’t quite... _oh wait. Oh Margaery,_ really? “You’re Cersei Lannister’s son?”

Tommen smiled as he shook her hand. “Yes ma’am.”

“Tommen’s been away at school since he was...oh what, eight? Nine?” Margaery beamed at Tommen, who had the dazed look of someone who’d been hit in the head with a heavy object. “He’s set to graduate this spring, and he’s come home for the weekend.”

Theon was standing a little straighter, puffing his chest out. Mya noticed. Even though it was mid-March, Tommen managed to have a golden tan, and his traditional good looks were attracting attention. _He’s threatened so he’s got to wave his man parts around. Of course_. “Graduate, huh? What university?” Mya recognized the challenge in his tone and fought off the urge to roll her eyes. Theon hadn’t gone to college; just the Police Academy.

“Oh, I start at the University of St. Aegon in the fall.” Tommen’s chest puffed out importantly. “Only a handful of boys from my class got in there. I’m amazed I did.”

Mya couldn’t look at Theon if she wanted to keep her straight face. _A_ high school _student_?  “That’s...quite the achievement. Your mother must be proud.”

“Yes ma’am.” Tommen untangled his hand from where Margaery had wrapped it around her waist and pointed across the gallery. “She’s right over there, if you’d like to say hi.”

Sure enough, Cersei was sitting alone at a table across the gallery. She was watching the four of them, her face like stone. When Tommen waved, she raised her wine glass to her lips. Mya’s eyesight wasn’t what it had been when she was younger, but she could’ve sworn Cersei’s knuckles were white around the glass. She might have smiled. She might have grimaced. It was hard to tell, and Mya didn’t want to get a close-up view. “I’ll catch up with her later tonight, I’m sure.”

On the stage, the band finished up the song they were playing with a brassy flourish. A large gong was sounded, and the lights dimmed. A large white spotlight focused on the stage, where a microphone waited. Slowly, the party-goers started to take their seats at the tables.

“Oh - we’re sitting with Tommen’s family tonight.” Margaery smiled brightly, tucking her hand into the crook of Tommen’s elbow as they headed towards their table. “Mya, can’t wait to read your column for this!”

Mya and Theon had been placed at a table near the middle of the crowd with a group of investment bankers who promptly settled into their own industry talk. It all flew straight over Mya’s head. She took a sip of champagne, leaning close to Theon. “Honestly, I could write a five-page review on Cersei’s face itself.”

On the stage, a handsome, dour-faced Dornishman was tapping the microphone, frowning when it screeched with feedback. He was dressed in a dramatic black coat with a collar that ended just under his chin. It was a stern, strict look. His hands were clasped behind his back and even though he stood stock-still, Mya knew he was a strong, fast man. He glared at the crowd as it slowly quieted. The spotlight made his white hair seem blinding. There was a single midnight-black streak in it. Mya wondered if he dyed it.

The man glowered at the crowd until the very last whisper had died down. “Oh behalf of the Dornish embassy, it is my...honor to introduce Oberyn Martell.” His words were clipped by a staccato Dornish accent. His tone suggested that this gala was the very last place he’d rather be.

A second man crossed the stage, smiling charmingly. He was handsome - skin the color of new bronze, gleaming back hair with a sharp widow’s peak, and keen black eyes. His cufflinks were agate and burnished copper, brilliant orange against the black of his tuxedo. Normally they would’ve looked cheap, but Oberyn Martell was able to pull it off. He was older than Mya thought he’d be, looking to be somewhere in his mid-40s. His face bore lines of age, but he wore them well. As his eyes flicked over the crowd, his face sharpened way the family cat’s did before he pounced on an unsuspecting mouse.

“So many lovely faces out there. I have to say, I’m surprised. This city is so grey and glum this time of year. And yet, you all look so pleased to be here. I can’t blame you, not really. And I suppose I am lucky to be coming here at this time of year, when the spring rains will be washing away all the dirt. Well. Most of it.” If Mya wasn’t mistaken, Oberyn was looking directly at the Lannister table. From where she was sitting, she could only see Margaery and Tommen, both of whom were more involved in each other than Oberyn’s speech. She wouldn’t be surprised if Tywin was there with Cersei. _Not Jaime though. He hasn’t been seen in the city for ten years_.

“He’s not very good at this whole diplomat gig, is he.” Theon murmured.

“There’s something refreshing about his honesty.” Mya nibbled a piece of bread from the baskets on the table. “And I wouldn’t kick him out of the coat closet.”

“Careful, you.” Theon tapped the end of Mya’s nose playfully. He glanced across the room towards the bar, letting his hand wander to her thigh. “Isn’t that your pal over there?”

“Hm?” Mya dragged her attention away from Oberyn’s speech She followed Theon’s gaze. “Oh...I didn’t realize he was going to be here.”

‘He’ was Mya’s old college professor, Tyrion Lannister. She’d kept in touch with the man after she’d graduated, and had even spoken at a few of his classes over the years. Recently she’d heard rumors that he and his long-time love had parted ways. Judging by his current appearance, the rumors must’ve been true. Tyrion looked, at best, dishevelled. Like many of the men in the room he was dressed in a tuxedo, but his bowtie was undone, hanging limply around his neck. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone, and when he turned around Mya could see it was untucked. There was a half-empty martini glass in his hand.  As Mya watched, he reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a flask and pouring its amber contents into the glass.

“Martinis aren’t supposed to have mule in them, are they.” Mya had never been much of a drinker, which, considering how long the Greyjoys were in bootlegging, struck her as ironic.

“Not unless you want to drink furniture polish.” Theon turned his attention back to his food. While Oberyn was still speaking, waiters were scurrying around, placing plates of roasted mozzarella, small orange peppers, and cherry tomatoes in front of them. They were swimming in a tangy basil sauce, and just the sight of them made Mya’s stomach rumble. “Do you want your habaneros?”

“They’re all yours.” Mya kept watching Tyrion. He was clearly drunk, his speech slurred as he scolded the bartender. People were starting to stare. “Should I go help him?”

Theon shrugged. “You’re not his babysitter.”

“I know but…” Mya squirmed uncomfortably. While she and Tyrion weren’t close, personal friends, she still owed the man her career, at the very least. “He’s going to get himself in trouble.”

“He’ll be fine, dove. If you think this is the first time Tyrion Lannister’s been drunk, much less drunk in public, you’re in for a real shock.”

“Oh hush.” Mya murmured. Tyrion was slinging back his whiskey martini, glowering at everyone and no one in particular from his bar stool. His driver appeared at his elbow, leaning casually against the bar. He was a swarthy, smirking man that Mya had never spoken to, but he and Tyrion were close friends. She settled back in her seat, spearing some mozzarella. Tyrion wasn’t here on his own. _He’ll be fine. Theon’s right; this isn’t Tyrion’s first drunken rodeo_.

On the stage, Oberyn was wrapping up his speech. “I know you’re all waiting for me to finish before you start eating, and I hate to stand between a Kingsporter and their food.” He smiled  blandly at the small titter that went through the room, and raised his glass. “To cooperati-.” He paused, dark eyebrows raising as the door at the side of the gallery eased open. Tywin Lannister was attempting to slip in unnoticed and late, but  Oberyn’s eyes missed nothing. “Why, good evening, Mr. May-...excuse me, Mr. Lannister. I was so hoping you would be able to join us tonight, seeing as how your current mayor is otherwise occupied.”

If Tywin Lannister was perturbed at being called out by Oberyn, it didn’t show. He merely lifted his chin, his stony, smooth expression never shifting. A second figure slipped in behind him. Mya nearly choked on her roasted tomato. It was a woman - petite, dark-haired, olive-skinned, and dressed in a clingy, wine-red dress. _Shae. What’s she doing here with Tywin, of all people_?

Mya glanced at the bar just in time to see Bronn recognize Shae. He blinked, but wrapped an arm around Tyrion’s shoulders, guiding him off his barstool and towards a table at the back of the room. He didn’t seem to notice his former lover with her hand tucked in the crook of his father’s arm, or even that his father had arrived. _Thank God for that_.

The rest of the night seemed to pass without incident. The main course was served: roasted game hens stuffed with hummus, figs, and more peppers. It was a spicier dish than Mya was expecting. Her mouth was numb by the time she was halfway done with it, but Theon was in heaven. After a light fruit tart, the band began to play again, and couples formed on the dancefloor.

Theon’s eyes were still watering from his peppers as he led Mya to the floor. “So what gossip have you gotten so far?”

Mya sighed. “I’m a terrible entertainment reporter. Everyone knows Tyrion’s a lush, so that won’t draw in any readers. Tommen Baratheon and Margaery are four layers of fabric from doing something that’d warrant an arrest for indecent exposure right on the dance floor.”

“Lucky boy, that one.”

“Shut up.” Mya laughed. “The most I could do with that is a blind item. That or Tywin and Shae. I’d wind up at the bottom of Blackwater Bay for that though. But…” she bit her lip, thinking. She was so much better at writing crimes than she was making up fluffy gossip stories. “Well, Oberyn doesn’t seem to like it very much here. He essentially called all of us fat and ugly. I could work with that.”

“It’ll be popular. Or it’ll start an international incident.” Theon smirked. “It’s got my vote.”

Mya smiled as she rested her cheek against Theon’s shoulder. His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her that much closer. They still fit together like puzzle pieces. His hands knew where the best place to rest on her body was - the small of her back, the curve of her shoulder, where her waist flared to her hips. Her fingers knew his lines intimately. Every scar he bore, she knew by touch. The way his hair curled over his collar when it grew too long, his scent, the sound of his heartbeat, his footsteps coming down the hall. In that moment she didn’t care if Oberyn Martell liked Kingsport, or who Shae with-no-last-name was spending her time with, or how high Cersei Lannister’s blood pressure was at seeing Margaery Tyrell wrapped around her only son.

“What do you think the kids are up to right now?” She asked. The stomach flu was ravaging Rosie and Robb’s brood, so Mya and Theon’s children were at home tonight with Mya’s brother Gendry, and Robb’s sister Arya.

“It’s what, 9:30?” Theon glanced at his watch. “They’ve probably taped your brother to the wall, and Arya’s probably pouring shots.”

Mya would’ve laughed if she had thought Theon was joking. The band wrapped up the song they were playing, leading into a sultry, slow tango. “Let’s go sit down, dove.” Theon took Mya’s hand and tugged her off the dance floor. “I have three dance moves. A tango isn’t one of them.”

“I think you’d be good at it, if you put your hips into it.” Mya sank back into her chair gratefully. Her shoes, while stylish, were far from comfortable. The dance floor was emptying save for a few brave couples who were three sheets to the wind and laughingly stumbling through the intricate steps. “Like that fella there, with the bad toupee. He’s putting his hips into it.”

Theon snorted. “He’s having a stroke, more like.”

Oberyn Martell stepped onto the dance floor, extending his hand to a woman in the crowd. Like Oberyn, she had flawless copper skin and gleaming black hair. She wore an elaborate dress of orange and red silk with small metal scales covering the plunging neckline. _Ellaria Sand_. Mya had done some light research on the new ambassador so she might be able to make conversation if need be. Ellaria and Oberyn weren’t married, but they had been companions for nearly two decades. Together they had four daughters on top of the four Oberyn had sired on other women. Margaery had told Mya that tongues were wagging at both the number of Oberyn’s children and the nature of his relationships but if the gossip had reached the new ambassador, it didn’t show. His eyes were focused on Ellaria’s face.

She was more striking than traditionally beautiful, but when she and Oberyn started dancing Mya couldn’t take her eyes off them. They moved together fluidly, weaving around each other in time to the music. The looks exchanged between them was so intimate Mya felt like she’d walked in on them making love. Clearing her throat, she took a sip of water and tried to ignore how warm her cheeks felt. “We should take dancing lessons.”

Theon grinned, looping a lock of her hair around his finger and tucking it behind her ear. “I think we dance just fine, dove.”

Before Mya could respond, raised voices towards the back of the room broke the spell of Oberyn and Ellaria’s dance. The crowd murmured and somewhere a glass shattered. Mya spun in her seat, craning her neck to see what was going on. _A story, that’s what. Thank God too. Otherwise my article would’ve been as interesting as a math book_.

Theon’s attention was on the scuffle too. “Stay here,” he said. Downing the rest of his drink, he slipped into the crowd. Mya saw his hand slip inside his jacket. Theon had never gotten past his habit of wearing a shoulder holster, and tonight was no exception. _If he opens fire in here my column is going to be the least of our problems_. She followed him towards the back of the room.

As she grew closer her stomach sank. Despite Bronn’s efforts to keep Tyrion unaware of Shae’s presence, he’d found her. And he’d found his father. The small man was was swaying dangerously on his feet, an empty glass in his hand. An overturned chair lay between him and his father. A water glass had shattered on the floor, the puddle creeping outward. Tyrion’s eyes were bloodshot and red, his face contorted in a painful anger. Shae seemed to be unable to look at him, instead trying to shrink behind Tywin. Margaery and Tommen looked as though they’d jumped away from the table, but Cersei had remained seated. She wore an expression of pure contempt as she looked

“All the times you called her a whore,” Tyrion spat at his father, “all those times. What changed your mind? Or is it just that you wanted to hurt me?” Tywin’s face was still as a death mask.

“We will discuss this at a later time.” His lips barely moved as he spoke.

“Why not discuss it now?” Tyrion retorted, waving his glass around. Mya winced - his words were badly slurred. However drunk he’d been before was nothing compared to now. “You haven’t fucked a woman since Mother died, have you. So why now?”

She put a hand on Theon’s arm. “Can  you stop him?” she whispered. “Please…”

Barely nodding, Theon stepped forward. His hand was away from his holster, Mya was glad to note. “Listen, Professor, why don’t we just step outside for some fresh air-”

“Fresh air my ass.” Tyrion said loudly. More people were watching them now than watching the dancing.  “I’m not done _discussing_ how my Pops is schtupping ol’ Shae there.” Tywin didn’t flinch, so Tyrion turned to Cersei. “Have anything to add, Sis? You have a go at her too?” Cersei merely rolled her eyes, taking a sip from her wine glass.

“Listen, this isn’t the time. Why don’t we take some time, calm down-” Theon was doing his best to diffuse the situation, but it wasn’t working.

“We are calm! Perfectly so. My Pops there is always calm, did you know that? I bet he hardly breaks a sweat while he’s fucking the woman I love.” Tyrion grabbed a glass of wine off the table. “Did you know he was doing that? Wasn’t sure if you’d missed it.”

A tuxedo-clad waiter emerged out of nowhere, pulling Bronn along with him. He had a cigarette parked between his lips and wore the annoyed expression of someone who had seen this dog-and-pony act way too many times.

“Alright, you little shit.” Bronn took the glass of wine out of Tyrion’s hand. His tone was somewhere between annoyed and amused. “You’re done. Let’s pack it in. You’ve done your damage for the night. I’ll get you a steak, ‘less you make me pick you up and cart you out of here like a whining child.”

Tyrion glared blearily up at Bronn. “Last time I told you to never do that again, didn’t I.” For a moment he looked as if he was going to retort, but instead his shoulders slumped.  He looked at the empty whiskey tumbler in his hand and tossed it aside carelessly. With one last look around the now-silent room, he let Bronn lead him from the room.

Mya looked around the silent room. Tyrion’s outburst had stopped the music, stopped the conversation, stopped everything and now everyone was staring, even the waitstaff. The expressions she could see were a mix of curious, embarrassed, and scornful. Oberyn stood ten feet away, carefully watching Tywin. Somewhere in the room, someone cleared their throat. In the next heartbeat Margaery had clapped her hands briskly, calling to the band. “How about something we can all dance to?”

Slowly, hesitantly, the party started up again, but the damage was done. People started leaving within the hour. Just as Mya and Theon were going to slip out, Margaery caught up with them. “Quite the evening, wouldn’t you say?”

Theon snorted. “To say the least. At least the Imp didn’t vomit up the distillery he drank all over the place.”

“I wouldn’t say that till you make it out of the parking lot.” Margaery shook her head. “Still...he and that girl were together forever. What was she thinking, taking up with his father?”

Mya just shook her head. She was suddenly exhausted. The pins in her hair were digging into her scalp, and her shoes were pinching worse than ever. “He needs to get out of town for a bit, I think.”

“At the very least.” Margaery scanned the gallery. “Oh, Tommen wants me. Mya, I’ll want your article first thing Monday morning.”

Theon draped his arm around her shoulders as they started out. “It’s a big country. Maybe his driver’ll just keep on driving.”

“Maybe.” The entire evening had left Mya feeling distinctly unsettled. “Hopefully.”

* * *

 

Later that night or early the next morning, the sound of the phone jangling on the night stand woke Mya with a jolt. Next to her Theon snorted in his sleep and rolled over, pulling the blankets with him. Mya’s cat leapt down from where he’d been curled up behind her legs with a disgruntled “Mrrph.”

“Oh, spare me. You spend all day sleeping.” Mya grumbled at him. She fumbled around blindly before she found found the handset.

“‘lo?” she mumbled.

“Is this the Greyjoys?” An unfamiliar voice asked.

“Uh-huh, yeah. Whozzis?” Mya pushed herself up on an elbow and grabbed her alarm clock. It was three-thirty in the morning.

“This is Davos Seaworth, the police chief. I understand it’s late or...early, I suppose, and I apologize. I work with your husband, and something has...happened. Is he available?”

Mya was awake now. “Absolutely. One minute-” Mya covered the mouthpiece and drove an elbow into Theon’s back. “Theon, wake up.”

“Mmph.” _Between him and the cat, I swear to God..._

“Theon, c'mon. It’s Chief Seaworth.”

This wasn’t the first time Theon had gotten a late-night call from one of his superiors. Groaning, he rolled on top of Mya and took the phone from her. The conversation was tense and short before Theon hung up and rolled back off Mya. “Son of a bitch.”

“Do you have to go in?” Mya was already burrowing back under the blankets.

“I do. This is big. This is really big.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Fucking _shit_.”

“What?” Mya propped herself up on an elbow. "What is it?

Theon climbed out of bed, searching for his pants. “Tywin Lannister’s been murdered.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dawn was still a long way off when Theon pulled his Rolls into the driveway at the Lannister estate. He looked to be the last one there. The grim, black Medical Examiner’s truck was there, along with a handful of other squad cars and Robb’s gleaming Caddy. It was a little clunkier than Theon’s, but Robb and Roslin had had to concede that they could no longer squash all their children into the sporty coupes he liked to drive. Theon flicked his ignition and climbed out, feeling all the creaks and grindings that came with waking up entirely too Goddamn early. Taking one last drag on his cigarette, he dropped it on the stone driveway and crushed it out with his heel. Smoking was a rarity for him now; during her last pregnancy Mya had been made sick to her stomach by the smell of cigarette smoke so he’d been forced to quit. Mostly.

Robb was standing at the edge of a clump of officers near the front door when Theon walked up, looking haggard.

“You look like shit.” Theon said under his breath.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine.” Robb had his arms folded across his chest. Normally he would’ve been the officer in charge of this case, and the one who’d have to wake up Mya so she could rouse Theon out of a sound sleep. _Normally the stiff isn’t the former mayor and one of the most famous men in the country._

On the porch steps, Davos Seaworth was giving orders. He hardly looked the part of the Chief of Police. His clothes were rumpled as if he’d thrown them on half-blind, and his chin was covered with a thick grey stubble. “What’d I miss?” Thoen jerked his chin at their boss.

“The usual.” Robb yawned. “No press, no comments, top-level security, cross your Is and dot your Ts.”

_No press_. Theon bit back a snort. If he knew Mya half as well as he thought he did she was already awake, legs folded under her as she pecked out various headlines on her trusty old Underwood for what was sure to be a front-page bombshell. If she’d thought she could get away with it Theon would put hard money on her dropping off their children with the neighbor and hailing a cab into her office.

“I want a perimeter around the property.” Seaworth was saying. He pointed to a few younger officers.  “You, you, and you. Block the driveway, tape it off. No one comes or goes without my say. You two,” he snapped his fingers at Robb and Theon. “with me. Greyjoy, put that away.” He added when Theon pulled another Lucky out of his cigarette case. “You know better.”

Theon grumbled, but obeyed. He and Robb followed Davos into the grand entrance. He hadn’t been in the Lannister mansion since Joffrey’s death, some years before. Very little had changed. To say it was huge was an understatement. The ceilings soared, the marble floors gleamed, and everything that could be gilded was. To Theon, it was tacky and impersonal. He’d always prefer the warmth of his own home, or the soft familiarity of Riverrun. Even drafty Pyke with its creaking, salt-stained wood and dingy, warped windows seemed more comfortable to him.

None of that mattered right now. Davos led past to a sitting room. Inside, two scared, pale servants sat perched on a sofa that probably cost more than both of them earned in a year. They watched Robb and Theon pass them, their eyes dark and nervous.

“They’re the ones that found the bodies,” Davos said quietly as he led the men up a wide, curving staircase. “You can question them later. His daughter’s making phone calls now but she’ll come down to the station to give her statement.”

“Bodies?” Theon paused on the staircase. “You implied there was just one.”

“I was premature. We hadn’t found the second body yet.” Davos grimaced as they reached the top of the stairs. “It’d’ve been nice if Tywin could’ve used some of his millions to install a damn elevator. I’m too old to be climbing all these steps.”

The crime scene was in the eastern wing of the house, where Tywin kept a suite of rooms. The hallway leading to them had already been roped off. Theon could hear low murmurs coming from one of the rooms, mixed with the muffled pops of a camera flash, and the loud clicking of the film being advanced. Davos nodded at an open door where light was spilling out. “In there.”

“There” was a large, opulently appointed bathroom, all fine marble and granite. It would’ve been beautiful if it hadn’t been for the tableau set up in it. Tywin was slumped on the toilet, wearing a deep red dressing gown. The color was the exact same as the blood that sheeted his legs, oozing from a hole in his abdomen. It spread onto the floor, creeping into the grout and pooling under the porcelain sink. Tywin’s eyes were open but had slid out of focus, and his face had a grey-white color that reminded Theon of old milk. His jaw hung slack. The sight was unsettling. Every other time anyone had seen Tywin Lannister it had been how Tywin wanted people to see him. Always dignified, with a ramrod spine and a steely countenance.

The county coroner, Dr. Qyburn, was making some notes on a clipboard while his assistant scurried around snapping pictures of the scene. The old doctor looked at the three police officers mildly, completely at ease at a murder scene. “He was shot.”

“Y’don’t say.” Davos said before Theon or Robb could. “You certainly earn that salary of yours.”

“He’s only cooled off a little. I’d say he hasn’t been dead more than an hour or two. I’ll be able to tell more when I get him on my slab.” Qyburn capped his pen, either ignoring or missing Davos’s sarcasm. “A gut shot is normally a slow death, but given the size of it, I’d say he only lasted a few minutes.”

The gun lay in the pool of blood at Tywin’s feet. Theon crouched, pulling a pen from the pocket of his trench coat and carefully sticking it through the trigger ring. _Webley Bulldog. Tywin was in the Great War like Robb’s Pop-pop. Pop-pop collected weapons from the war...did Tywin?_

“Bag this. Don’t touch it,” he told the coroner’s weasley-looking assistant. The gun was dropped into a paper bag, similar to what Rodrick and Quent took their lunches to school in, and taped shut. There weren’t any bullet casings, not that he could see. Robb crouched next to the toilet, peering behind it.

“Bullet’s still in him. Doc, when you get it, send it to our lab with that gun. We’ll have it printed.” The department’s collection of criminal’s fingerprints was small, but growing every day. There was a miniscule chance that they’d find a match. Robb ran a hand through his messy auburn curls. _He looks ten years younger than he is with that mop_ , Theon thought, absently mirroring the movement through his own grey-flecked hair. _Asshole._

The asshole was still talking. “Where’s the other one?”

Qyburn nodded towards the door connecting the bathroom to the bedroom. “Through here.”

Tywin’s bedroom was all heavy, dark woods and heavy, dark textiles. The bed was unmade, but had clearly two people had been sleeping in it. A bedside lamp was on, spilling ineffective light into the room. On the far side of the room was a half-open door, and it was at that that Davos nodded. “In the dressing room. It looks like she fought.”

It took Theon a minute to remember the name of the woman dead on the floor even though he’d seen her mere hours before. _Sharon...no. Mya talked about her all the time...Shirley? Shae_. She was naked, sprawled on her back. Her dark eyes were wide and bulging, her expression slightly stunned. The whites were red, filled with blood. One of her hands lay on the gold necklace wrapped and twisted around her throat. The chain had torn her skin, leaving it frayed like tissue paper. _Someone was furious with her_. Theon’s stomach felt heavy. _Tyrion. It has to be him. No one who was at the dinner last night would say otherwise_.

Robb knelt next to Shae, brushing a lock of hair away from her neck. He lifted her hand, turning it so they could see her fingernails. There were small ribbons of skin under them, and her fingertips were smeared with blood. “Looks like she got ‘im pretty good. You got any ideas?”

“A few.” Theon wasn’t ready to discuss them yet. “Let’s go talk to the help though. See what they have to say.”

Davos scratched his chin with the stumps of his fingers. “I’ve got to think of what to say to the press. Bunch of fucking blood-thirsty vultures, they are. ”

Robb caught Theon’s glance and they both bit back a grin. “They’re not so bad, once you get used to them.” Robb replied.

“If Stannis had his way he’d control every media outlet in the city and can the lot of ‘em.” Davos grumbled. “That’s neither here nor there. Go on and talk to the servants. I’m sorry to take up your Saturdays, but this is important. I’ll arrange for Cersei to come down to the station today.”

“It’s nothing.” Robb waved him off. “Four out of five of my kids are projectiling fluids out of both ends. This is a vacation.”

The servants were still in the parlor. One was an stooped old man with thick fingers, fluffy white hair, and clear blue eyes. The other was a thin, scrawny teenage girl who had a timid, mousy look to her and limp strawberry blonde hair. She was sitting on a mohair settee, but leapt to her feet as soon as the two men entered. The old man eyed Theon and Robb warily as they entered the room, and stepped protectively to put a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“We don’t know nothin’” he said before Robb or Theon could even open their mouths. “And we don’t want any trouble from you.”

_We don’t want any attention, he means_. They weren’t the first undocumented servants Theon had come across, especially since the economy had gone straight to Hell. Undocumented workers were cheap, numerous, and didn’t complain. He responded before Robb could. “We’re investigating a double homicide, not illegal immigration. All we want to know is how things happened.” The man was still distrustful, the girl scared. “Listen, your names won’t even go in our report.” He felt Robb’s sigh more than he heard it, and knew he’d be in for a stern lecture about policies and procedures once they were on their way to the stationhouse.

The girl’s eyes flicked back and forth. When the old man opened his mouth to protest again she held up a hand. “Stop, Dad. It’s ok.” She looked to Robb and Theon. Robb already had his little notepad out. “I found Mr. Lannister. I get up early, so’s to prepare Ms. Cersei and Master Tommen’s breakfast. I...I saw the light on in Mr. Lannister’s bath and I went to turn it off - he’s very strict about wasting electricity.” The girl paused, looking up at her father. “The door was half-open. I saw the…” she swallowed. “The blood on th’ floor, and then I saw him.”

“Was he still alive?” Robb asked.

The girl shook her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t stop to check - I ran and got my dad.”

“Did you hear anything? Either of you?” Theon asked. The gun, while small, was loud. It would’ve been enough to wake most people out of a sound sleep.

“Nothing. But the servant’s quarters are on the opposite side of the house.” It was the man that spoke this time, haltingly. “He was dead by the time I got to him. And cold. I called the police, then woke Ms. Lannister. She thinks it was her brother who done it.”

Theon did too, if he was going to be honest with himself. “We’ll be sure to take her statement. Was there anything else? Anything you saw? Anything out of the ordinary?”

Both servants shook their heads. “You promise you won’t put our names down?” The old man was still suspicious.

Robb started to answer, but Theon bowled over him. “Sir, we don’t even know your names. ‘s far as anyone’s concerned, we talked to John and Jeyne Smith.”

* * *

“You know that’s not going to fly, right? It’ll take thirty seconds of digging for someone to find out their real names.” Robb drummed his fingers on his knee as Theon headed back into the city. He’d followed Robb back to Riverrun where Robb had left his car and climbed into Theon’s. They still rode together, more out of habit than necessity now.

Theon shrugged as he cranked open his window. The cool dawn air was a welcome slap on his face. “We weren’t to get anything out of them otherwise. You know that.”

“I know.” Robb leaned his head back, eyes drifting shut. “Take the long way, wouldya? I’m short about seven hours of sleep.”

“Like Hell. ‘f I’m awake, you’re awake.” Theon yawned so wide he thought his jaw would dislocate. “There’s some stuff you should know about this one.”

“What?” Robb looked over at Theon.

Theon accelerated through a stop sign. The sky was growing brighter as they approached the city. “The woman. She was Tyrion Lannister’s dame. Or she used to be. They split three or four months ago.”

“Go on.”

“Y’know that dinner Mya and me went to? Tyrion was there. So was his father, and the ex.” Theon squinted as he turned onto the main road leading into the city. The sun was rising, hazy and blood red. _I could still be asleep. It’s Saturday. Saturday’s fucking Pancake Day at home._ He’d had plans to send the kids to the movies for a double feature of _The Mummy Meets the Werewolf_ and _Brides of Dracula_ , and keeping Mya in bed until they came home. _But no, you’re stuck figuring out the obvious - Tyrion Lannister finally plugged his father._

Robb scratched his jaw. “Bet that went real pretty.”

“We may as well go and question him right now. Save ourselves a load of trouble.” Theon suggested. “For all we know, we could get there and he could have a bevy of witnesses saying he was at home all night long.” He was stopped at an intersection, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel while he watched Robb’s face.

“May as well,” his one-time partner said finally. “Radio in, get us a warrant to search his home. He won’t let us in without one. Have a messenger bring it to us”

The two-way radio was a relatively new addition to the Rolls. It took up the entire glove box, much to Theon’s initial chagrin. _‘s not that big a deal now - there haven’t been any rubbers in there for years_. He’d told Quenton and Alyce that if they ever touched the radio, regardless of whether or not he was in the car, they’d go to jail for the rest of their lives and he and their mother would never, ever visit. Their wide, terrified eyes still made him chuckle. Headstrong Rodrik...well, Theon had had to slip him a twenty to buy his obedience.

As it turned out, Tyrion had taken up residence at the Highgarden, the towering, glittering high-rise that was home to some of the most wealthy, and most famous names in Kingsport. Theon had been there several times, always for some party or dinner that Margaery Tyrell was throwing, and that Mya had to put in an appearance at. A messenger was waiting at the curb for them, crusty-eyed and irate at being up this early. Without a word he slapped the envelope holding the warrant against Theon’s chest when they climbed out of the car, then shambled off.

The doorman, a pimply, gawky young man, was dozing on his stool.. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Theon cleared his throat. He was all knobby elbows and cracking voice as he straightened his little hat. “C-can I help you?”

Theon grinned as he and Robb flashed their badges. “We’re looking for Tyrion Lannister. Heard he lives here.”

The doorman’s pulse was jumping in his neck, as if he expected his boss to burst out of the potted topiaries on either side of the rotating door and tear him to shreds for falling asleep. “Mr. L-lannister? He’s in...uh...let me check…” The doorman pulled a folded up list of names and numbers, running a chewed fingernail down it. “He just moved in here a few months back. He’s in 2405. That’s on the 24th floor.”

“Y’don’t say.” Theon brushed past the doorman and headed for the elevator. With some of the larger penthouses the elevator would open directly into their foyers, but Tyrion’s was just a corner apartment down a long, wide hall. The scent of coffee and bacon drifted around them, making Theon’s stomach grumble.

Robb pounded on the door numbered 2405 authoritatively. “It’s the police, Mr. Lannister. Open up.” There was no answer, and after a minute he tried again, louder.

“He’s not there.” A voice behind them said. They both turned. Tyrion’s driver, Bronn something or other, was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “What’d he do that’s got you lot lookin’ for him?”

“You don’t know where he is, I take it.” Theon said. Something about Bronn’s demeanor made him think he knew far more than he’d ever say.

Bronn shook his head, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Wherever he is I’d reckon he’s got a real thumper of a hangover.”

“You got a key for this place?” Robb asked.

“You got a warrant?” Bronn’s face was a closed book.

Theon pulled the warrant out of his coat pocket, flashing it in the man’s face. “Ink’s still wet.”

“I’d recommend cooperating with us.” Robb said. “Otherwise we can make things very difficult for you.”

Bronn snorted, but pulled a small ring of keys out of his pocket. “You don’t threaten people much, do ya? You’re shit at it.”

“Just stay out here.” Robb snatched the keys and unlocked the door. It opened on silent hinges. Robb entered, but had only taken two steps before he stopped dead, filling the doorway.

“For Christ’s sake, Stark, d’you mind?” Theon tried to edge through the doorway past him. “Your ma never teach you it’s rude to lurk in doorways?”

Robb gave him a withering look, but Robb’s withering looks had stopped working on Theon when he was twelve years old. “On second thought, you come with us.” He said to Bronn. “I wanna keep an eye on you.”

Bronn snorted again, but obeyed, keeping his hands in his pockets. “What, you think I’ve got that little shit hidden in my pockets?”

“I’d hope not.” Theon replied. “Just stay where we can see you.”

“Why? What’d he do, piss on someone’s car again?”

Robb and Theon glanced at each other, and Theon spoke. “There was a double murder at his father’s estate last night, and we just want to ask him a few questions.”

“Christ…” Bronn whistled through his teeth, but held his hands up. “Alls I did was bring him home last night and tuck him in. He was drunk and pissed, but he could barely walk. He was sawing logs  when I left.”

“Did you go straight home after that?” Theon asked. Next to him, Robb was scribbling in his little notepad. This was usually how things with them went - Robb’s handwriting was neater and he was faster at taking notes while Theon asked the questions.

“‘course. You can ask Lollys. My wife. Go on, call her right now and she’ll tell you. I got home maybe midnight, quarter after, and didn’t leave ‘till this morning.”

“Do you normally show up this early?”

“Not normally.” Bronn scratched his head, looking like he wished he hadn’t shown up this morning either. “But I thought...I dunno. He was in rough shape last night. I was gonna make sure he ate something.” He sighed, and Theon realized that even though these two men were about as opposite as two men could be, there was a deep camaraderie between Bronn and Tyrion. _Dammit, Lannister_.

Tyrion’s apartment was exactly what Theon thought it would be. The walls of the main room were covered with shelves, the shelves bowing from the weight of the books crammed on it. Every surface held a stack of texts, old maps, and stacks of yellowed papers. Weak sunlight filtered in through the partially-drawn curtains, glinting off empty and half-empty wine glasses. It looked like a chaotic mess, but Theon knew Tyrion would be able to find anything he was looking for in under a minute. There were stepstools and ladders everywhere, and some of them had become unwilling bookshelves as well.

There weren’t very many rooms in the apartment, and it soon became obvious Tyrion wasn’t in any of them. Nor were there any smoking guns, proverbial or literal. A tabletop clock was bonging eight before Robb finally conceded that there was nothing there.

“I told ya.” Bronn held a cigarette between his teeth as he lit it. “Now, you done babysitting me, or…?”

“For now. Don’t go too far.” Robb tucked away his notepad. “We’ll probably have more questions for you and if we have to look for you too, we’re not going to be happy about it.”

“Oh, Lord knows the last thing I want is for a few pigs to be unhappy with me.” Bronn shot back.

Theon bit the inside of his cheek, but didn’t respond. After some of the other things he’d been called, ‘pig’ was complimentary. Instead, he merely handed Bronn a card with the precinct number on it. “You see him, or hear from him, you let us know.”

The press was a throng surrounding the police station when they returned. Theon pulled around to the back of the building near the sallyport, and when they got up to the office it was far busier than it had any right to be on a Saturday. Davos Seaworth had returned as well, and barreled out of the men’s room as Theon and Robb passed. There was a blob of shaving cream near his ear, and he was fiddling with his necktie. “Tell me you found out who did this. I’m giving a statement to the vultures and I want to be able to tell them something.”

“Not yet. But we have some ideas.” Theon said. “I wouldn’t tell them any more than that, though. Last thing you want is for the killer to hear we’re onto them and skip town.” If he hasn’t already. If Tywin and Shae had been dead even six or seven hours, Tyrion could be across the ocean already. _And odds are Bronn was lying about knowing where he was. We should’ve put a tail on him. Still could..._

Davos just grunted, distracted. “I told Stannis he ought to get a better mouthpiece than me. I hate the press. _Hate_ it.”

“May as well go and get it over with.” Theon stifled a yawn. Davos grumbled a bit, but vanished down the stairs.

They were able to watch the press conference from Robb’s office. With a window propped open they could almost make out what Davos was saying, and what questions the press were shouting. Theon perched on the uncomfortable marble windowsill, craning his neck. Most of the reporters were men in their fedoras and trilbies, but he spotted a few women in the crowd. His woman was towards the front, as he knew she would be. She was flanked by those two Redwyne lummocks, the ones she called ‘One’ and ‘Two’. As he watched, Mya gestured to one of the Redwynes with her pen, giving him a small nudge. The Redwyne called out a question, and Mya nodded approvingly.

“He’s right,” Robb murmured. “Stannis does need to get a mouthpiece. I’m sure Seaworth is a competent leader but he’s sweating like a whore in church down there.”

The press conference was coming to an abrupt end. Davos had turned and disappeared back into the building, leaving the reporters outside shouting questions after him. When he strode through the main office, he snapped his fingers towards Robb and Theon without even looking at them. “My office. Now.”

He stood behind his desk, arms crossed. “Sit.”

Robb and Theon glanced at each other, but sat nonetheless. They’d been in these chairs so many times Theon was surprised they hadn’t left permanent ass prints in them, and the expression on Davos’s face was the same as the one Selmy had worn when his tits were in a twist over something. “Goddamn vultures. Tell me what you’ve got.”

Theon sat forward and rehashed his theory about Tyrion, Davos nodding the entire time. “Think it’s enough to put out an APB?”

Robb started to reply but Theon shot him a look. He didn’t like the idea of having to arrest Tyrion. If he could stall things for even a day, it’d give him a chance to think about how to handle this. “It could be but…” he shrugged, casting about for another idea. “Oberyn Martell was there, too.”

“‘course he was. The entire damn dinner was for him, wasn’t it?”

The old, cracked leather creaked under Theon as he rested one ankle on the opposite knee. “He saw Tywin show up. Called him out on being late in front of everyone.”

“And?”

Next to Theon, Robb’s eyes were flicking back and forth between his friend and his boss, but by now he knew when to keep his mouth shut and let Theon ramble. _Or dig my own grave_. “And there’s bad blood between those two, going back for years. During the war, Tywin was in charge of a small squadron that was supposed to assassinate Rhaegar Targaryen. He got some bad intel that Rhaegar was in Paris, at the house his family had there. Only he wasn’t. His wife and two young kids were, but he was...shit if I remember. Somewhere else. Tywin should’ve called off the mission. Hell, maybe he did. Long story short, some of his men didn’t and in the end, the kids were killed. Rhaegar’s wife was raped, and then killed, although maybe not in that order.” Theon shrugged. The story was one that Robb’s uncle Edmure had brought back from the front lines. He’d only told it to Theon, Robb, and Jon one night when he was a few bottles into a whiskey-soaked night. He’d also told them gruesome details of how the children had died, and even now, years later, it still made Theon’s stomach churn to think of it. “His wife was Oberyn’s sister.”

“I’ve heard that story.” Davos mused. “Not a pretty one. What’s  your point?”

“If that were my sister and her kids that’d been killed, I’d want revenge.” That wasn’t _technically true_. If Asha had ever had children they’d be cloven-hooved abominations whose deaths would be a boon to the world. Plus, Asha was more than capable of handling herself. “What’s to say Oberyn doesn’t want the same thing?”

“Really?” Davos looked amused now, but interested. “You think he’d come all this way to avenge a 20-year-old murder?”

“It’s worth looking in to.” Theon couldn’t look at Robb and instead rubbed the stubble on his jaw.

Davos looked at the two of them for a long minute before turning and pacing to his window. “Fine. Keep it clean and by the books. Last thing we want is trouble from the Dornish.”

It was going to take all of ten or fifteen minutes to shift the blame off of Oberyn and back where it belonged. Twenty if he dragged his feet. Hopefully it’d be enough.


	4. Chapter 4

Monday morning was grim and cloudy. Mya glanced out the window as she sat at her vanity, pinning her hair up. The underside of the clouds were tinged orange by the city lights, and the tops of the tallest buildings vanished into them. The sight was gloomy. This was Mya’s least favorite time of year; that muddy time when spring wasn’t quite here yet and winter hadn’t quite left.

Sliding the last pin into her hair, she stood and padded across the room to the bed. Theon still slept, burrowed under the blankets. He’d returned home in a dour mood yesterday, refusing to discuss the case. Mya knew not to prod and knew when he didn’t want to be bothered. She’d thought he’d tell her what happened at night, once they were alone, but he’d remained silent on the matter. Now, she stood next to their bed where she’d tossed her stockings, sliding one up her leg. The only light in the room was coming from the oil lamp on her vanity, and she squinted in the dimness as she propped her other leg on the bed, looking for her stocking’s mate. “Where…”

From the lump of blankets that was her husband, a hand emerged, waving her missing stocking like a flag.

Mya smiled, wrapping the silk around her hand and tugging gently. “I’m afraid I need this, or else I’ll be all lopsided at work.”

“Sorry.” Theon tugged back from under the blankets. “Unacceptable. Downtown’s flooded. On fire. Locusts. You can’t leave yet.”

“Is that so?”

Theon finally slid out from under the blankets. He had sleep lines across one cheek, and his jaw was covered in stubble. He cupped her heel, his hand warm with sleep, and started kissing his way up her calf. “God’s truth. Gonna take at least an hour to clean up.”

Mya let her fingers tangle in his hair as he edged his way past her knee, starting up her inner thigh. “I’m going to miss my bus.”

He was easing her underwear down with one hand and pushing her slip up with the other. The thin fabric seemed to melt away under his fingers. “There’ll be another.”

This happened a few times a month - one of them would wake up with an itch, and it would be a race against time to scratch it before they had to leave for work or worse, one of the children woke up. They’d gotten good at it.

Theon tugged Mya under him, pulling the bedspread back over them as his lips skimmed lower. “We’re going to wake the kids,” Mya protested feebly.

He snorted and nipped her belly. “ _You’re_ going to wake the kids.”

* * *

Mya hummed to herself as she strolled down the hallway to her office. The sun had made a valiant effort to break through the cottony grey clouds while she travelled downtown. It left weak spots on the marble floor as it spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It did little to illuminate the sprawling newsroom, but Mya didn’t mind. There was no one else here anyway. Not this early.

She opened the door to her office, peeling off her light trench coat and hanging it on the hook on the wall. Flipping on the light, she turned to her desk and screamed.

“Not so loud, please, Ms. Greyjoy.” Tyrion Lannister winced from where he was slouched in her chair.

Mya’s mouth flapped as she tried to force out words. “What are you _doing_ here?”

“Waiting for you.” Tyrion shrugged. He looked rough, and that was being kind. He still wore the tuxedo she’d last seen him in, but the crisp white shirt was now wrinkled and spotted with dried blood. His face was covered in a few days’ growth, and there were several raw, red gouges on his cheek. His eyes were dead, staring out from purple circles. He didn’t look like he’d slept since Friday. When Mya inhaled she could smell the despair coming off him. Gin, whiskey...Theon would probably be able to identify the booze on smell alone, but to Mya it was all the same.

Mya glanced over her shoulder, then shut her office door. The last thing she needed was for someone to wander into work early and catch a murderer in her office. “You can’t be here.”

“I know it’s-”

“No,” Mya cut him off. “You _cannot_ be here. How did you even- no, y’know what? I don’t care how you got up here. You killed someone. Two someones. You’ve got to go now, before someone sees you here.” Crossing behind her desk, she picked up her phone. “Tell me who to call. Your brother? Your driver?”

Tyrion merely shook his head, staring blankly out her window. “You know what my father said to me before he died? He looked at me, and he always had this way of looking at me that made me feel two inches tall, no pun intended. Anyway, he looked at me, and said I was no son of his. He told me that at least a dozen times a year. I’m guessing he had it written down as a monthly appointment. ‘June 4th: Remind Tyrion I loathe and despise him’.  August 18th: Dentist appointment. December 12th: Make sure assistant sends out Christmas cards. Tell Tyrion he’s the bane of my existence’.”

Mya’s finger hovered over the rotary on her phone as she wrestled with her conscience. Every fiber in her body was telling her to phone building security, but even as her finger moved towards the ‘0’ she was putting the handset back in the cradle. There was something pathetic about Tyrion, about the way his shoulders slumped in absolute, inhuman defeat. If he was going to hurt her he’d have done so by now.

“He hated Shae. Didn’t think she was worthy to share a bed with a Lannister, and he’d tell me that in the same breath where he’d say how much he wished I’d been the one to die, not my mother. He always threatened to make her disappear. I have no doubt he knew people who could do it for him. He was the Mayor, for God’s sake. Don’t think he and your in-laws never talked.” Mya felt vaguely uncomfortable at the thought of Tywin Lannister having a tete-a-tete with the long-exiled Euron Greyjoy, but didn’t respond. “It’s why I ended things with her. She thought I was going to propose. I tried to convince her to leave the city. She’d love it on the west coast, or down south where it’s warmer.”

“She didn’t agree.”

Tyrion snorted. “Of course she didn’t agree. She tried to tell me we could go together.” He fell silent, leaning on Mya’s windowsill. After a long while he looked back at her. “I came here because I have nowhere else to go. Bronn hid me for the weekend but he’s had enough of me, he said. He’s always the one putting things at risk, and now that he’s got a wife and child on the way, it’s not worth it. That kid isn’t even his. He’s only putting on face so he can get in good with his mother-in-law when she makes out her will. He helped me pick the lock on a door in the loading docks.” He shook his head. “I’m getting off-topic. I can’t rely on Bronn. My brother is hundreds of miles away on that Godforsaken island that I doubt even has electricity, much less phone lines. My job is gone. My friends, and I use the term lightly, wouldn’t even acknowledge me in the street if I was on fire. I know we’re more acquaintances than anything, but I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

Mya rubbed her forehead, sighing. “What exactly am I supposed to do? Hide you in my attic?”

“You’re married to a police officer who, by some accounts I’ve heard, isn’t always on the up-and-up.”

“Are you saying you’re blackmailing me into helping you?” Mya’s stomach went cold.

“Wh- no. I honestly hadn’t thought about that. Wish I had. I’m not exactly at my best right now. All I’m saying is that he probably has connections or resources and I would like to make use of them. I could reimburse you.” Tyrion picked up a framed picture from her windowsill. It had been taken a few summers ago, and showed her children on the shore of the lake up by Winterfell.

_With what_? As a Lannister, Tyrion was among the wealthiest men in the area. Maybe the country. _Once he’s a convicted murderer, or worse, a fugitive, he’ll be as broke as the rest of us. Even if he’s not we can’t be caught getting money from him_. Mya sank into her chair, scrubbing her hands over her face. _Today was going to be so good_. “We don’t need your money.”

“Of course you do. Everyone needs money.”

“We don’t need _your_ money.” She repeated as she picked up her phone again. _Call security. Call the police. He_ killed _people_. Despite the thoughts circling each other in her head, Mya found herself dialing not security, not the police, but her own home.

Theon answered on the second ring. At the sound of his voice Mya’s throat snapped closed. “Hello?” He said again.

“It’s me,” she blurted out. Tyrion raised an eyebrow. “I...I need you to come by. Now.”

He chuckled. “And here I thought you got enough this morning.”

“No, it’s not that. I-...something’s happened.”

Any levity fled from Theon’s voice. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“I’m fine.” she reassured him. “Fine. Just stop by after the kids leave.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Theon wait-” But he’d already hung up. Mya sighed and hung up the phone before turning back to Tyrion. “Help is on the way. You just…” She glanced around her office, looking for someplace where Tyrion wouldn’t be seen if anyone burst into her office. There were few options; it wasn’t the biggest office and as such, she hadn’t put much more in it other than her desk, a few filing cabinets, and two chairs. “I’ll just keep the door closed.”

Once people started arriving for work that proved harder than she’d have liked. Within minutes of Mya hanging up the phone, she heard high heels clacking down the hall. She’d heard Margaery running around enough to recognize her gait, and was barely able to shove Tyrion under her desk before her boss burst into her office.

“We need something meatier on Tywin Lannister than what we put out this weekend.” Margaery said without pretense. She wore red today; a bespoke crimson skirt that ended at her knees, and a matching tweed jacket. Mya smoothed the skirt of her own peach-colored dress, feeling woefully underdressed as she always did around Margaery.“You sent over the bare bones this weekend, but I have it on good authority that the _Compass_ is going to run a full biography tomorrow. I want to get one out in our evening edition. How long will-”

Hitching up a smile that she hoped was confident, Mya dug briefly in her bag and produced a folder with the neatly typed story of Tywin Lannister, detailing his life and his run in politics. She’d pecked at it over the weekend, taking out words here, changing some more there, and by the time it was done she was more-or-less happy with it. “It’s not pretty, but-”

“It’ll do.” Margaery snatched the pages up without looking at them. “Your detective find anything new? Rumor has it they were at the Dornish embassy.”

Mya shrugged, resisting the urge to peek down at Tyrion, crouched under her desk. “They haven’t found anything. At least, not that Theon’s told me.”

Margaery made a discontented sound. “If he does…”

“You’ll be the first to know.” Mya finished. “Was Tommen there when it happened?"

Margaery's face softened slightly. Mya had the fleeting thought she might actually care for the Lannister boy. "He was with me. He's home now, with his mother. Poor thing's devastated. He looked up to his grandfather."

"They all do." Mya nodded at the folder in Margaery's hands. "Now, you better run that off to the presses if you want it out today. Shoo.”

Margaery clattered off as suddenly as she’d arrived. Mya exhaled, shutting the office door and leaning her forehead against the frosted glass.

“The Dornish embassy?” Tyrion’s mussed head popped up.

Mya waved a hand, wishing Theon would turn up already. “Just trying to find you a patsy that would start an international incident, don’t worry.”

Mya’s phone jangled suddenly, two short bursts. It was the security desk - Theon had arrived. She told the guard to send him up.

Within minutes, he pushed her office door open without knocking. Tyrion ducked back under the desk at the same time Theon entered. His tie was crumpled up, half-hanging out of his jacket pocket, and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone. He had clearly left the house in a hurry and now crossed Mya’s small office in two strides, cupping her face. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I’m fine. I’m alright.” Mya grasped his wrists lightly. “It’s just…” She glanced at her desk. “You can come out.”

Theon raised his eyebrows at her words, and as Tyrion re-emerged his jaw dropped. “Fucking…are you fucking _kidding me_?”

Even though she knew she shouldn’t, Mya felt embarrassed. Judging by the slightly surly look Tyrion gave Theon, he didn’t. “Detective. You’re looking well.”

“Sergeant.” Mya fought off the urge to roll her eyes. The Apocalypse could be occurring, raining fire down on the entire city, and Theon would still correct people on his rank. Theon flipped the lock on Mya’s office door. He turned to face Tyrion again, casting a quick, terse glance at Mya. “Talk. Now.”

“He needs help.” Mya responded when Tyrion didn’t. “He’s got nowhere else go to.”

“Mya.” Theon’s tone was rife with frustration. He raked a hand through his hair. “What are we supposed to do with him?”

“I don’t know.” Mya replied softly. “There has to be something.”

Tyrion’s eyes flicked back and forth. His face was still defeated, but his tone was dry, almost cutting. “You could drop me off at the pound, judging by both your tones. I’m housebroken and enjoy lying in front of the fire, and I’m good with kids.”

“I don’t want him to go to jail any more than you do.” Theon replied, ignoring Tyrion. “But this wasn’t really what I had in mind. I could fudge witness statements or evidence or something but what’m I supposed to do, stuff him in my back pocket? Hide him in our attic?”

“Your wife said the exact same thing.” Tyrion remarked. He had pulled a small flask out of his pocket and took a long draw from it.

Theon ignored Tyrion again and shot Mya a look. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Alright. Asha’s got some space, I think. There’s an old apartment over her club that’ll do till we figure something else out.”

“Excellent.” Tyrion screwed the cap on his flask. “I imagine you’ll have to pull around back. I can’t exactly go parading down the sidewalk these days.”

“Stay.” Theon snapped his fingers at Tyrion. “We’re not going anywhere yet. It’s not even eight o’clock. Asha won’t be at the club. If I call her and wake her up I’m going to need to have someone else start my car for a month to make sure I don’t wind up a skidmark on the sidewalk. You’ll have to stay here.”

“What?” Mya’s and Tyrion’s tones matched each other in flatness and incredulity.

“What’m I supposed to do, stuff him in the trunk all day?” Theon threw up his hands. “I don’t need any more bodies in there, thank you. For God’s sake, Mya…”

Mya’s stomach knotted and she took his hands. Theon’s temper could still get the best of him, especially when he was caught wrong-footed like he was here. “It’s ok.” She kept her tone soft. “It’s fine. He’ll stay in here and we’ll just make it work. Won’t we,” she added, casting a hard look at Tyrion.

The small man shrugged, unscrewing the cap he’d just screwed on to his flask. “I was comfortable under your desk.”

_I’m going to be fired and in jail by lunch_. Mya smiled but it felt more like a grimace. “There.” she said, resting her hands on Theon’s chest. “See? We’ll be ok. Everything’ll be ok. Honest.” She was on the verge of babbling.

Theon looked dubious and tired. “It better be.”

* * *

The day passed impossibly slowly. Mya was able to keep her door closed for the most part, telling the Redwyne twins that she had a headache and making vague comments about ‘woman issues’. That scared them into leaving her alone, and they must have told the rest of the staff to do likewise. Even the sandwich boy from the shop down the street made his visit brief.

Tyrion, in turns, drank, slept, and gazed out her window. During the afternoon Mya set a mug of black coffee on the windowsill in front of him, along with the remainder of her tuna salad sandwich. “You need food. And coffee.”

“I need neither, Ms. Greyjoy.” He replied evenly. Mya gave him a look that she usually reserved for Rodrik or Quenton when they were being difficult. He chuckled without humor. “You’re forgetting I killed my mother on my way out of her. It’s rendered me immune to mother-hen looks.”

There was a beat, then Mya shrugged and picked up the sandwich. It wasn’t cheap and she wasn’t about to let it go to waste. “Suit yourself.”

The afternoon dragged on. She pecked at a few articles she was noodling on, getting nowhere with them. It was hard to type with Tyrion in there. They didn’t speak, but just his presence was enough to throw her off. After a while, he found a stack of old crossword puzzles that had somehow wound up in Mya’s office, and rifled through them. The sun tilted towards the west, washing the city in a weak glow. Through the frosted glass of her door Mya saw the foggy figures of her coworkers filing towards the elevator.

Tyrion shuffled through the crosswords. “Four letters for ‘fasten’.”

Mya thought, eager for something else to latch her thoughts onto. “Tape?”

“Mmm...no...ah. Nail.” Tyrion shook his head. “I should know that.”

Before Mya could respond her phone jangled loudly. She practically leapt on it.

“Hello?”

“It’s me.” Theon’s voice was terse. “I’m glad you’re still there.”

“Where else would I be?”

“I called Gendry at the garage this afternoon. He and Arya picked the kids up from school and said they’d swing by the deli and feed them. I told him we both had to work a little late.” Mya could practically hear Theon glancing around the precinct as he spoke. “I’ll be by in ten minutes.”

“Good.” Mya glanced at Tyrion. “Come around back by the loading dock.”

* * *

Mya’s heart was beating a rapid tattoo in her chest as she led Tyrion down one hall, then another, and then a third until they came to the freight elevator. The elevator door was old, slatted wood surrounding a rusted, dirty metal platform. Mya hauled the door open, wincing at the loud squawk it made.

The elevator dropped an inch or so when they both stood in it. Tyrion looked up at Mya with slight concern. “Has anyone ever died in this thing?”

“Not recently.” Mya slid the door shut. A small metal box with a button in the middle hung from the top of the elevator, suspended by a thick, dirty cord. Mya pressed the button, and the elevator lurched to life, grumbling downward. It settled when it reached the bottom. Mya opened the door a crack, poking her head out and looking this way and that. By some miracle the cavernous loading docks were empty. During any other time of the day it’d be bustling with workers slinging twine-bound bricks of newspapers into trucks for delivery. But now, the evening edition had gone out with her article on Tywin taking up three pages of it, and the docks were quiet. The four large overhead doors had been shut. They’d be open again in a few hours, as the morning edition was printed.

“C’mon.” Mya waved Tyrion out of the elevator. Aside from the overhead doors there was a smaller, dented one tucked in the corner of the room, and it was that one Mya headed for. When she peeked out, Theon was waiting in the alley, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He looked impatient as they trotted down the short flight of concrete steps. Mya opened the back door, and Tyrion climbed in. She slid into the front seat.

“Hunker down on the floor there. There’s a blanket, cover yourself up.” Theon ordered with no pretense.

“I feel like I should thank you for doing this,” Tyrion started as he crouched awkwardly behind the driver’s seat.

“You think?” Theon grumbled. Mya touched his forearm.

“It’s almost done,” she said softly.

The drive across the city seemed to take forever and no time at all. It had been years since Mya had been to Asha’s club. Theon’s sister had gone semi-legitimate when Prohibition had ended, but there was still a certain type of grimy citizen that frequented the establishment. When Theon eased the Rolls into the dark alley, Mya saw absolutely nothing had changed, save that Asha had installed a light, a bare bulb next to the club entrance. In the early spring twilight the light was harsh and yellow. A shadowy figure lurked at the doorway. Mya couldn’t see his face, but he must’ve been one of the Codds or Stonetrees or Blacktydes - mooks that did Asha’s, and indirectly, Euron’s dirty work when need be. The figure glanced towards them and ducked inside the club.

Theon parked the car and sighed as a large, looming figure filled the doorway - Theon’s Uncle Vic. He was another aspect of the club that had barely changed. Still taciturn, still hulking, only a few more wrinkles in his sun-worn skin and a few more gray hairs belied his age. He leaned against the doorjamb, thick arms crossed and the end of a cigar in his teeth.

“Date night?” He jerked his chin when Theon opened the car door and climbed out.

“Hardly.” Theon glanced down the alley. “I-...we need to talk to Asha.”

Vic glanced from Theon to Mya. “She’s in her office.”

“We need her to come out here.” Mya said. “Just for a minute.” Now that they were here, Mya was starting to see holes in their plan. She knew the entrance to the little apartment over the club was inside of it - an innocuous door leading up a rickety, narrow flight of stairs. It used to belong to Roz, a prostitute who used Asha’s club for clients. Mya knew Theon had been a favorite client of Roz’s years ago, but she also knew the redhead had left Kingsport four or five years ago. She’d gone to the west coast, determined to make her mark as a burlesque dancer. Secretly, Mya had been glad to see the back of her.

“Why?” Vic’s gravelly voice broke through Mya’s thoughts.

“We just do, Vic.” Theon was starting to sound exasperated. “I’m sure she’ll tell you but for now can you just go get her?”

Vic tossed the stub of his cigar into a nearby puddle. “Don’t get your panties in a bundle, nephew. She’ll be right out.”

Mya would never be able to figure it out, but Asha hadn’t aged a day since Mya had met her. She’d groused about it to Theon years ago. He’d just shrugged and said his uncle Euron was the same way.

Now, Asha was sweeping her short, dark hair out of her eyes. “What’d you do this time, baby brother?”

“Nothing.” Theon glanced at Mya in the car. “We need a favor.”

“Vic said so. What sort?”

With a slight flourish, Theon whipped open the back door of the Rolls and yanked the blanket covering Tyrion away.

“Thank God,” the small man said. “That blanket smells like a dead dog.”

Asha’s dark eyebrows arched, and she shook her head. “You just go looking for trouble, don’t you.”

Tyrion clambered out of the back of the car awkwardly. “To Madame and Monsieur’s credit trouble found them this time.”

“And you felt like sharing. How generous.” Asha gave her brother a tight-lipped look. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Hide him.” Mya finally climbed out of the car. There were puddles in the alley and she avoided them carefully. God knew what was in them. “In that little room you have.”

Asha scoffed. “Does this come with a big, flashing neon sign that says ‘He’s right here!’?”

“C’mon, Ash,” Theon cajoled. “It’s only for a few days until we figure something else out. And since when do you toe the thin blue line, anyway?”

“Shut up,” Asha snapped. Her expression was identical to the one Theon had when he’d come to her office that morning. “You’ve got three days. Mya, dove, take him up the fire escape. The lock’s busted so you shouldn’t have a problem getting in. I’m not stupid enough to parade a wanted murderer through my bar. Yeah,” she started when Tyrion’s mouth opened. “Everyone knows you did it even if none of the rags around here’ll come out and say it. Theon, come with me. I’ve got a task for you.”

Tyrion was winded by the time they reached the door. “I’ve gotten used to elevators.”

Mya didn’t respond. The door stuck a little, warped by years of exposure, and she had to jiggle the handle before it opened. The room beyond was dark and smelled dusty. Mya fumbled blindly on the wall for a light switch and they both blinked owlishly when the room lit up with a yellow light. Roz had left the furniture there. There wasn’t much - a large bed that looked sad in the dim light, a small round table with two matching chairs, a settee against the far wall. Faintly, Mya wondered how many times Theon had been up here. A heartbeat later she remembered - Tyrion knew Roz. He’d taken her to the Policeman’s Ball a lifetime ago. Had _he_ been up here before? Should she ask?

“It’s a few steps down from what I’m used to.” Tyrion stepped into the room, running his fingers over the seat of one of the chairs. The motion left trails in the thick dust. “But that’s my own fault.”

“It won’t be for long,” Mya offered.

“It’ll be for long enough.” Suddenly he looked drained, melancholy, like the light had gone out of his life. I suppose it has. “It could be for forever.”

“Asha wouldn’t allow that.” Mya crossed to the bed and flipped the pillows over. She didn’t know why she was bothering, but something about the expression on Tyrion’s face made her want to take care of him. It rankled her. _He came to us because he has no one else, a nagging voice in her head sounded_. “Will you be comfortable up here?”

“If Ms. Greyjoy can donate a bottle of whiskey to the cause, I will. Or rye.” Tyrion considered. “Or vodka. Bourbon.”

Mya gritted her teeth. “I’ll see what I can do. Is there anything else you need before I go?”

Tyrion stood in the middle of the bleak, blank room. “No.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Theon slouched on the old leather couch in Asha’s office. There was no question of what task Asha had for him - someone had crossed the family, they had to die, and he was the one who’d have to do it. _Cause it’s not like she’s never plugged anyone, or Uncle Vic, or Qarl. Hell, even Uncle Aeron could do it. Preach whoever it is to death. Nope. I’m the only person in this Goddamn family who can pull a trigger_.

Asha kicked off her shoes, tucking her feet under her as she sat in the matching club chair. She offered him a glass of whiskey and he took it. “Who?”

There were a thousand questions about Tyrion Lannister pricking at Asha’s lips. That much was obvious. Fortunately she bit them back and got right into it. “A real estate developer north of here. He’s taken an interest in Uncle Euron’s patch of wetland outside of Rushing Falls. He’s not taking no for an answer.”

Theon’s gut clenched. The last thing he needed, his family needed, was for that bog to be drained. “Fine. Tonight?” Rushing Falls was a few hours’ drive, not one he was looking forward to doing tonight. Plus, he’d have to stop home and sneak his rifle out of the basement without his kids noticing. It would be at least midnight before he got home. Probably closer to two o’clock.

Asha shook her head. “Tomorrow. He lives up in Brindlewood. Get his info from Vic.” She stood, brushing imaginary lint off her high-waisted pants. “You need to make this one look like an accident.”

“Why?”

“He’s well-known in Brindlewood. People know he wouldn’t just up and vanish and leave his pretty wife. And if he turns up with a hole in his head…” Asha trailed off.

Theon merely grunted. Accidents were a pain in the ass to set up, but not impossible. “Fine. What’s his name?”

“Redfort something. Mychel.” Asha glanced at the door as there was a perfunctory knock. “Come in.”

Mya slipped in and shut the door after her. She rubbed her arms, looking uncomfortable. She always looked like this when they were at Asha’s club; like there was some unwelcome residue on her skin. The look she gave Theon was pleading. _Please, can we go home now_? She fiddled with the rings wobbling around on her left ring finger. “He’s as settled as he’s going to get. He’ll need food, though.”

“I’ll get him something.” Asha replied. “You two get out of here now. You’ve got three days. Theon, remember to talk to Vic first.”

Mya glanced at him, questioning. He’d tell her what he always told her later on; that he had to see to some family business. She’d know all she had to. Theon rested a hand on her back, suddenly eager to get away from this place. “I will. If anyone comes snooping about our guest, you call me. If anyone so much as says a name starting with the letter ‘T’, you call me.”

Asha rolled her dark eyes. “Go home.”

Ten minutes later Theon wove through the center of the city, a folded piece of paper in his pocket. Lighting flickered through the low clouds, followed by a snarl of thunder, but he paid it no mind. Mya kept glancing back as if she expected Tyrion to come running after their car. After the fourth time she did it, Theon wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Relax.”

“I can’t.” Mya slid across the bench seat, tucking herself against his side. “I hate this. I never should’ve agreed to help him.”

Theon pressed a kiss to her hair as they waited at a red light. It had been years since they’d sat like this while he drove, so close. It felt nice. “It’ll be fine, dove.”

“But what’re we going to _do_ with him?” Mya was fretting now. Theon was starting to wish he still had a flask in the car. Normally Mya could keep a level head, but every so often she’d let her worries run away with her.

“Tonight, nothing.” Theon turned onto their street, relieved to see that in their absence, the house was still standing. The budding trees swayed in the wind of an oncoming storm. Thunder growled, louder now, and a thick sheet of rain started to fall as he eased into the garage. “Tonight we go inside and untape Gendry from the wall.”

Mya snorted, and Theon felt the nerves in his stomach ease a little. “Arya’s there, isn’t she? She wouldn’t let the kids do that.”

“Are you kidding, dove? It was probably her idea. C’mon now.” Theon kissed her hair again and slid out of the car.

They huddled under the small awning over their back door as Theon fumbled with his keys, and the door swung open on an unexpected scene. The kitchen was intact, save for a pile of deli wrappings on the counter. The radio on the counter was tuned to one of Theon’s favorite serials, and the table was covered in what looked like an intense Monopoly game. Rodrik, Quenton, and Alyce were peering intently at the board, the girl kneeling in her chair to see. Arya was hovering over the pile of money, and Gendry was reading off a card. “-to jail. Sorry, Rodrik.”

_No one’s taped to anything, no one’s bleeding...Hell, no one’s even crying_. “Jail already, pal? I thought you’d at least make it to twelve before you went to juvie.”

Rodrik glanced up, dark hair falling in his face. He smirked, the expression giving Theon a strong sense of deja vu. _He’s you_.  “Gotta live up to the family name, don’t I?” The words twinged in Theon. _Nine years old and sharp as a whip on that_. He forced out a laugh.

“Hey Alyce,” Gendry broke in. “Tell your ma and dad what happened today.”

Alyce obliged, beaming up at both her parents with a newly gap-toothed grin. “I lost a tooth!”

Mya’s brow furrowed as she hung her coat next to the door. “You didn’t even tell me it was loose, sweetie.”

“It wasn’t.” Gendry glanced at Arya, who was smirking. “Go on’, Ali. Tell ‘em what happened.”

Alyce’s grin faltered and she seemed to shrink into her pink pajamas. “I punched a boy at school.”

Despite the long, arduous day he’d had, Theon couldn’t help but guffaw at Mya’s exclamation. “Must’ve been a Hell of a punch to knock your own tooth out.”

Alyce knotted her fingers. “He pushed me down on the playground after lunch and I hit my face on the seesaw. So I got up and punched him. Just like Uncle Gendry’s showed me.”

“Great, Gen.” Mya rubbed her forehead. “Fantastic.”

“It was, from what she said.” Gendry looked proud of his niece. “She’s a better shot than either of your boys. Arya wants to take her down to the ring some day, see what she can do.”

“Absolutely not.” Theon replied. He’d been at too many of those fights to even joke about it. “ I thought you cared about her.”

“Oh, can it, old man.” Arya stretched as she stood, rifling Rodrik’s hair. “Gendry and I’re just pulling your leg. Now pay up so we can hit the road.”

Theon slid Gendry a fiver and after a round of goodbyes, he and Arya dashed off into the stormy night. An hour later Mya insisted the kids put an end to their Monopoly game, which Rodrik had been winning hand over fist after escaping jail. "You have school tomorrow." she said over their objections. "Now march."

Theon was waiting for her in the hallway as she exited the boys' room, shutting the door quietly behind her. Now that they were alone again, he could see the apprehension and nervousness she'd tucked away in front of their children. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she leaned against his chest. "I'm tired."

"You and me both." Theon trailed his fingers up and down her spine.  "What d'you say we turn in too?"

"Mm." Mya relaxed against him. "I was going to do the wash tonight."

"Save it. I'll be home late tomorrow night. You'll need something to keep you busy." Whenever Theon had a job to do for his family, no matter how late he was, Mya was always up when he arrived back home. He'd stopped trying to talk her into going to bed years ago.

As quickly as she'd relaxed, Mya tensed again in his arms. "How late?"

"A few hours." Theon glanced down as the cat wound around his ankles, rumbling loudly. "I'll be quick about it."

Mya didn't respond for a long while. "I hate that you have to do this."

"I know. But you don't have to worry about it. I've never been caught."

"Yet. Theon, if anything happens to you, now with Tyrion-" Mya looked up at him, her blue eyes fraught with worry.

He took her hands and kissed her fingers. "Hush, now. There's nothing we can do anything about Tyrion tonight, remember? Tomorrow we'll figure out where to ship him. Maybe I'll box 'im up and send him to Uncle Euron over in Berlin."

"That's the last thing we need." Mya sighed. "Alright. Come downstairs and I’ll make some sandwiches."

"I'll be right there." The mention of food reminded Theon how hungry he was. When Mya had padded downstairs, he slipped into the bathroom at the end of the hall. The overhead light was harsh as he opened the medicine cabinet, poking through toothbrushes, some old makeup of Mya's, half-used spools of floss, the odd, misplaced toy soldier... _there_. On the top shelf was a box of his razor blades. Theon slid it open thoughtfully. _Asha said it had to look like an accident_.

He slipped the box into his pocket and went to join his wife.

* * *

The next day dragged. Theon was relegated to henpecking on a typewriter, transcribing the brief, ill-fated interview he'd insisted happen between him and the new Dornish ambassador. It was slow-going, and he found himself taking frequent breaks to study an old, faded topographical map of Kingsport and the surrounding cities. As the afternoon ticked on, he returned to his desk. The sooner he got this damned report done the sooner he could forget about it.

Oberyn Martell had seemed amused the interview was happening at all. Theon had shown up at the Dornish embassy, a large, four-story brick house located in central Kingsport's finest private neighborhoods. The inside was as lavish as the outside, all mahogany and marble, gold and granite and fine paintings on the walls. He was led into a bright  glass conservatory where Oberyn and his... _wife? No, Mya said they weren’t married_...whatever she was, Theon remembered her name was Ellaria, were eating breakfast. They looked up as if the’d been expecting him. Oberyn stood, extending a hand. "Sergeant. Welcome. Please, sit. What would you like for breakfast?"

Theon’s stomach grumbled, reminding him some hastily-gulped coffee on the way out the door did not count as breakfast. _Shut it, you_. "Oh, I couldn’t-”

“Nonsense.” Ellaria smiled. “The cooks here are generous and have made us far too much to eat.”

“Sit.” Oberyn said again. “Eat something and tell me why you think I killed Tywin Lannister."

_No beating around the bush today_. Seeing no other alternative, he sat at the round wrought-iron table. It was rare that he had an interview snatched out of his control so quickly, and it left him wrongfooted. "You have a well-known dislike for the La-"

"Everyone has a well-known like for the Lannisters. Even the Lannisters. If the things that happened to my sister happened to yours, and you found yourself face-to-face with the man responsible for them..." Oberyn swirled the orange juice in his glass, letting his words hang. "But I did not kill Tywin. I did not have the chance. There was a...disagreement the night he died, wasn't there? I seem to recall seeing you there, Sergeant Greyjoy. I seem to recall seeing you trying to defuse an argument between Tywin and his son. Have you tried talking with him?" 

Even though Robb wasn't there, Theon could imagine the amused look on his face. It made him want to punch him. He tore off the corner of a flaky pastry. "We will be questioning him soon."

Oberyn smiled indulgently. "Of course you will. I'm sure he'll tell you quite a tale. Far more interesting than the one I can tell you. I remained at the dinner until midnight or so. There are a hundred people who can vouch for that. A hundred and fifty, if you're bored. After that I returned here with Ellaria. We went to bed shortly before one.”

"Of course Oberyn was with me." She said immediately. "I'm a very light sleeper, and I'd know if he was gone for any measure of time. Now, unless there's anything else, some of our daughters are arriving shortly and there are things we need to do beforehand."

"Of course." Not knowing what else to do, Theon closed the small notepad he'd pulled out and not written a single word in. He felt like an idiot - this was nothing but a waste of time and everyone knew it. If he'd had half a brain he'd be tailing Bronn.

Now, he shuffled the pages of his admittedly flimsy report, not wanting to hand it in to Robb. It was nearly three o’clock, and he was getting antsy. Robb’s door was closed; he was in a meeting with Seaworth and had been for much of the afternoon. Theon glanced around the room. No one was paying attention to him, so he casually strolled over to the row of mail slots lining the far wall. Robb’s was jammed full of God knew what. It was quick work to shove his sad little report in between a budget request and a performance evaluation. He grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and slipped down the back stairs.

In the safety of his car he slipped the box of razor blades out of his pocket, turning it over in his hand thoughtfully. They would ensure Mychael Redfort’s death looked like nothing more than an unfortunate accident.

At this time of day Brindlewood was a little over an hour outside of the city. It was a wealthy, picturesque town, all charming gas lamps and neat storefronts. Very few of the buildings were over two stories. Mychael Redfort’s realty office took up a building on the main street, between a grocer’s and a beauty salon. Cars lined either side of the street, but none of them were his. Theon had convinced Asha to lean on one of her mooks who had a sister who worked at the DMV. He’d called her over lunch to get what he needed.

He found the car in a small, otherwise-empty parking lot around the corner. It was twilight now, the parking lot dark, and Theon knew he’d have to work fast. He pulled on a pair of black gloves, his hands starting to sweat immediately. He slid the box of razor blades open, slipping one out. It glinted in the orange light trying to light the empty parking lot. Theon knelt next to the car and wedged himself halfway under it, searching for... _there_. Tugging on one of the car’s brake lines, he started running the razor blade along the wires. Theon didn’t want to cut the brake line full-out. Under careful enough inspection, a keen-eyed crime scene specialist or copper would be able to see a clean cut. All he wanted to do was fray the line.  Brindlewood was a very hilly, nearly mountainous terrain, and Theon knew that Redfort lived on the west side of town in a neighborhood that could only be reached via a curvy, hairpin road that wound down a large hill. With any amount of luck, Redfort would try to slow himself down on the hill, the line would snap, and the rest...well, that would take care of itself.

Satisfied that the brake line was as frayed as it could get, Theon rose and brushed off his trousers. He tried not to think about what would happen if he’d gotten the wrong car, or if Redfort didn’t go straight home, or if he hit another car, or if he had a passenger. _He won’t. He can’t. Even if he does, they’re just collateral_. He adjusted his overcoat and slipped his hands into his pockets, shaking off the vague discomfort collateral would bring.

Asha would read Theon the riot act if he didn’t see this though, so he sat in his car while Brindlewood grew darker, slouching a little. Eventually he couldn’t ignore the rumbling in his stomach, and flipped open the glovebox. While it was mostly taken up by the clunky radio Selmy insisted on, he usually kept a candy bar or some peanuts in there for times like this, when he was forced to sit and wait. Tonight, all he found was a crumpled Snickers wrapper and a scrap of paper with a scrawled _Sorry pal! I owe you!_ from Robb.

“Goddammit…” Theon slumped back in his seat. The one remaining light in Redfort’s realty office clicked off and half a minute later, a lone figure exited. Theon sat up, flicking the ignition and waiting. A sweep of yellow headlines announced Mychel Redfort’s car leaving the parking lot. Theon let him get a few hundred yards up the street before following him. His mind was becoming plagued with doubts. What if he’d cut the line too thin and it snapped before he got to the hill? What if the accident didn’t kill Redfort? Theon had never liked getting up close and personal with his killing. The snap of Mace Tyrell’s neck still echoed in his mind some nights...could he do it again? _If you need to_. Quick as lightning he saw the two sides of his family: his uncles and sister, looming large and dark. The other, Mya and the kids. _You don’t have a choice_.

Fortune was smiling on him as he followed Mychel Redfort. The road they were on was abandoned, dark. There were no intersections, so his tagging after Redfort wouldn’t raise any suspicions. HIs pulse quickened as they approached the hill. Just get it over with, just get it done…

As Redfort started down the hill, Theon saw his brake lights light up, flicker once, then stay on. _Please..._ The hill curved into a sharp, curving decline. At the base of it, a feeble guardrail loomed and past that, a steep drop off. Theon gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. The lights flickered on again, blinked, and went dark. Theon held his breath as the car careened forward. The guardrail didn’t stand a chance, exploding in a shower of splinters as Mychel Redfort’s car disappeared over the drop off.

Theon exhaled loudly, easing his own car to a stop next to the shattered guardrail. He stepped out, careful to step only on the scattered gravel next to the road instead of the soft dirt. When he peered over the edge, he smiled grimly. Beyond the drop off was a steep, rocky valley, the walls of it lined with ancient evergreens and other sturdy old trees. Redfort’s car had fallen maybe twenty feet, landing in the branches of a thick century oak. The sun’s light was almost gone, but it was still enough to light a satisfying scene.

There was no question that Mychel Redfort was dead. The force of his car’s impact with the tree it was in had thrown him against the steering column, and Theon had seen enough of those sorts of crashes in his time on the force to know it wasn’t something a person could come back from. _Not with the way it’s 3 inches into his chest_. He stared down at the mess for another minute before giving himself a mental shake and returning to the Rolls. He’d been lucky that no other cars had come by. It would be stupid to count on that luck to last.

He turned his car around and started back up the hill towards the main road leading back to Kingsport. Asha would be waiting.

* * *

It was nearly nine before Theon made it home. There had been traffic getting into the city, and Asha’s club had been bouncing. Nevertheless, it was done, she was happy, and Theon had another roll of cash for the safe in his bedroom closet floor.

When Theon opened the back door to his house the first thing  he heard was the rhythmic _slugga-slugga-slugga_ of the washing machine in the basement. He smiled to himself as he trotted down the  creaking stairs, knowing what he’d find. Sure enough, Mya sat cross legged on an old work table, leaning against the concrete brick wall. She wore a pair of men’s pajamas, far too big, and had her hair set in ridiculous rollers she used after she washed it. She was marking up a thin stack of papers with a red pen, squinting slightly in the light of a few bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling, and hadn’t heard him come down. Their cat was curled up next to her, and blinked sleepily at Theon.

“Homework?”

Mya jumped, then sagged with relief. “You’re home.” Even though she had the vaguest ideas about where Theon went when he did wetwork for the family, she knew exactly _what_ he was doing. She never asked for details, which made Theon rest a little easier. She didn’t need to hear some of the things he’d done.

Now, he merely nodded and sat on the table next to her, peering over her shoulder at what she was marking up. “So what is this?”

Mya capped her red pen. “Quent’s homework. He’s got to write a paper on how earthquakes and volcanoes are related. He wanted me to look over it.”

“Sounds boring as shit.”

“Hush. He’s fascinated by it.” The washing machine ground to a halt. Mya slid off the table and flipped open the lid, pulling out a shirt and starting the wringer on top of the machine. Two clotheslines ran the length of the basement, and Theon dutifully pinned the shirt to one of them as Mya handed it to him. The basement, like most basements, was cold and a bit dank, nothing like the finished, furnished basement at Riverrun. Theon had plans for the space, but they never seemed to pan out. Right now, boxes were stacked against the walls; Christmas decorations, baby clothes Mya couldn’t bear to part with, odds and ends from a decade together.

“Y’know, it’s warming up out. You could hang these outside.”

“Absolutely not.” Mya shook her head, speaking around a mouthful of clothespins. “That Garrison boy next door stole 4 pairs of my underwear last summer. I’m not putting my lacies out there where that deviant can get them at his leisure.”

“Deviant. Please. He’s a horny kid.” Theon snorted.  “You could just stop wearing ‘em.”  

Mya shot him a look, then her expression changed. “I talked to your sister.”

“That’s always a joy. How’s her guest?”

Mya’s glance shot around the basement as if the entire police force was hiding in the shadowy corners. “He’s fine. Annoying, she said. I might have a way to get him out of our hair, though.”

Theon raised his eyebrows. “Is it going to wind up with Asha wrapping him in chains and chucking him off her boat?”

“She said it was too messy last time she did that.” Mya waited till a housedress came out of the wringer. “Tywin’s funeral is on Thursday. It’s going to be a big deal, lots of people coming from all over the country. No- don’t drink that…” Theon peeked through the laundry in time to see Mya shoo the cat off the edge of the washing machine, where the mangy hairball had been trying to lap up some soapy water. “You’re too dumb to live.” She muttered affectionately before continuing. “Anyway, word on the wire is that Jaime Lannister is coming in from Tarth for the funeral.”

“You want to foist Tyrion off on his brother?”

“Why not?” Mya nudged the drain on the machine open with her foot, letting the dirty water sluice down the drain beneath it. She scooped up the cat, letting it nuzzle her chin. Mya had a far greater affection for it than Theon ever did, having fallen in love with it from the moment she found it in the woods behind their cottage so long ago. For a minute seeing the cat made Theon miss their old bulldog Brutus, a thick slab of meat who’d fallen asleep in their backyard one hot afternoon last July and simply didn’t wake up.

Mya was talking again, and Theon forced himself to listen.“Jaime hasn’t been seen in Kingsport in a decade. Alla Tyrell said she’s got sources that say he hasn’t spoken to Cersei for at least that long. They used to be close. Alla said they were _too_ close, if you know what I mean. If they’ve had a fight that’s lasted this long, I don’t think he’d turn his brother over to her.”

“Probably not…” Theon didn’t want to spend too much time thinking about Tyrion Lannister, not tonight. He blinked and saw Mychel Redfort’s car careening off the road. _You had to_. Stifling a yawn, he nodded. “Fine. I’ll let Asha know this’ll all be wrapped up by the week’s end.”

“She’ll be happy.” Mya hung up one of Theon’s undershirts and pecked his cheek. “Oh, by the way, Robb called and asked why you ducked out early.”

Theon’s stomach twisted. He’d gotten used to lying to his best friend, but he hated when Mya had to do it. “What’d you say?”

“You cracked a filling on some peanut brittle my mom sent down and had a dentist appointment.”

“Your ma does make some good brittle.” Theon acquiesced. “Robb’ll want some.”

“Tough cookies.” Mya picked up the empty laundry basket, balancing it against her hip as she started upstairs. “I like it too.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

“This rain is going to be the death of me.” Roslin Stark gazed out the window of a small cafe she and Mya would meet up at for lunch once a week. 4-year-old Bobby took piano lessons from the old woman living above the cafe, and it allowed Rosie and Mya much-needed time to catch up every week. Rain dripped steadily off the striped awning, pooling in the empty planter pots outside. The marble floor was slick from customers dragging rain in with them, and a beleaguered-looking busboy was scampering here and there, mop in hand. “The kids have been so cooped up all winter and now that it’s finally warming up, it’s so wet and the river’s so high I’m worried they’d get washed away.”

Mya twirled a bit of pesto-covered angel hair pasta around her fork. “Most of them are in school all day, at least.”

“Catie and Eddie don’t do too well being stuck at a desk most of the day.” Rosie speared a piece of watermelon on her fork and gave it to 9-month-old Lya, who stared at it before taking a cautious bite. Rosie was careful to hold her napkin under the fruit, preventing juice from dripping onto her dark blue dress or the cream-colored cardigan she wore over it. They were new, she’d told Mya, and she wanted to wear them at least once before one of her children spilled something on her.

“Send a few of ‘em our way this weekend.” Mya held out her hands to Lya, pulling the baby into her lap. Lya abandoned the watermelon, her attention drawn to Mya’s deep red cloche hat. “Especially this one. You and Robb need to keep having babies so I can keep cuddling them.”

Rosie laughed loudly, clapping a hand over her mouth when several other patrons looked their way. “There’s no more room at my inn. You want another baby so bad, you have one.”

It was Mya’s turn to laugh. “Please. Theon’s not sold on the ones we have, much less any future ones.”

“He’s still half a kid himself.” Rosie waved a hand. “He wouldn’t even notice.”

Mya opened her mouth to respond but before she could, their waitress appeared at her side, setting a brown paper bag on the table. “Meatloaf sandwich, potato salad, and a cookie, all to go.”

Rosie raised her eyebrows, a smile playing on her lips. Mya snatched up the bag, her cheeks flushing. “Anyone can forget their lunch. He’s only human.”

“Try telling him that.” Rosie glanced at her watch. “Bobby’s lesson is over in a couple minutes.”

Mya tightened her arms around Lya a little more. “Can I take her back to work with me?”

“Absolutely. I could use an afternoon off.” Rosie pulled on her light coat, flipping her mahogany hair over the collar. “I’ll pick her up tomorrow.”

“Margaery would have kittens if I brought you in, y’know.” Mya cooed at the baby. The girl smiled, showing her five teeth, and waved her chubby fists. “You could shut down the entire operation! I could give you back to your mama with the entire crossword printed on your back, too!”

“Alright, alright.” Rosie reached over and took Lya back. “Robb’ll kill me if I let our kid get into a giant printing press.”

“Oh, he’d never even notice.” Mya set some cash down on top of the bill resting on the table. “I’ve got to scram. Lots going on this afternoon.”

“Go on.” Rosie planted a quick kiss on Mya’s cheek. “I’ve got to run upstairs and collect Bobby.”

Mya flipped her coat’s collar up as she stepped outside, clutching her brown bag. She’d taken the afternoon off, leaving her Redwynes in charge and telling Margaery she had an appointment with an interior decorator. The truth wasn’t nearly so pleasant.

Cabs were sparse on a rainy day like this, but she eventually was able to flag one down. She gave the driver an address down near the bay, ignoring the slightly surprised look he gave her in the rearview mirror and saying nothing except “Thank you” when he pulled to the curb in front of a boarded up shop.

She was blocks from Asha’s club, but it wouldn’t do to be seen climbing out of a cab there. She would draw far less attention, if any, walking. Bypassing the rusty steel door of Asha’s club entirely, she climbed the steps to where Tyrion was staying, gingerly gripping the wet railing and grimacing when her hand came away coated with dirt and rust.

When she knocked, it was long moments before the door cracked open. “You’re not the police.” Tyrion said.

“Not that I know of.” Mya held up her slightly-damp brown bag. “I brought you food.”

Tyrion pulled the door open wider. Tyrion still wore his rumpled, stained clothes. He was plucking at a bloodstain on his sleeve compulsively. “Come in then.”

The small table was covered in newspapers and takeout containers now, and a small stack of thick, dusty books rested on the unmade bed.  “Where’d you get those?” Mya nodded at them.

“Your husband’s uncle. He’s a very...introspective man.” Tyrion peeked into the brown bag.

Mya had to bite back a snort. “Which one?”

“The priest. I’m not much of a religious man, but he makes up for it. He spent most of this morning trying to convert me. Still…” Tyrion unwrapped the meatloaf sandwich and took a bite, shrugging. “A more interesting conversationalist than the beef castle.”

Mya fought off a shudder. She’d never warmed to Theon’s uncle Aeron; a gaunt, dour man who spent his time preaching to anyone he came across about his god. He’d performed Theon and Mya’s wedding, and that autumn, had baptized Rodrik. Theon tried to explain the ritual to Mya, but when it came to actually handing over her newborn so he could be dipped into the tumultuous sea, it had terrified her. It was done again with Quenton, but not Alyce. Girls, Theon had told her, were never baptised in the Old Way. It rubbed Mya wrong, but she kept her mouth shut. Even now, Aeron still rarely referred to Rodrik as anything except “The bastard”, and Quenton and Alyce were terrified of him.

She sat gingerly in one of the chairs around the table, crossing one leg over the other. There was a small snag in her stocking. She folded her hands together to keep from picking at it and causing it to run. She’d ruined more stockings than she cared to admit that way. “Your father’s being buried on Thursday.”

Tyrion paused mid-chew, then swallowed. “I take it I’m not invited.”

Mya shook her head. “Doubt it.” Her voice sounded small and strangled. She cleared her throat and tried again. “But we might have found a way to get you out of the city.”

“If the next words out of your mouth involve shipping me out in a coffin I’m not interested.”

“No.” Mya said again. “But your brother will be there.”

“Jaime?” Tyrion sounded surprised. “That’s surprising. Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure. I have a source who has a source. That sort of thing. Do you think he’d help?”

“Maybe.” Tyrion rubbed his stubbly chin. “Maybe...what are you thinking?”

“I’m going to the funeral. My press pass can get me into a lot of places.” Mya shifted in her seat. “I can try to get him alone, ask him for his thoughts on everything, say it’s for a story-”

“- you know you’re a terrible liar.”

“-so I’ve been told. Anyway, if I tell him you’re here, maybe…” she shrugged. “Maybe he’ll help get you out.”

“If he believes you. You’ll need proof that you have me and it’s not some sort of elaborate scheme.” Tyrion eyed the potato salad, then peeked into the bag. “They forgot a fork.”

“Write a note, something only he’d know. I’ll give it to him.” Mya dug in her purse, searching for a pen. Along the way she found a small purple, flowered fork she recognized as belonging to Alyce’s tea set. “Here. My daughter’s.” She added at Tyrion’s bemused look. Continuing to dig while he nibbled potatoes off a little toy fork, she came up with some scrap paper and a pen. “And here.”

Tyrion pulled them across the table, flipping the pen over in his fingers while he thought. After a few minute he jotted something down and slid the paper back to Mya. She picked it up, her brow furrowing. “What’s Tysha?”

“Not a what. A who.” Tyrion’s face clouded over. “Do not lose that.”

Mya folded the slip of paper up and tucked it inside a secret pocket in her purse. “I won’t.” Silence fell between them. Downstairs, Mya could hear a rolicking jazz tune start up, thumping steadily. She wouldn’t be able to stay much longer. “Who is she, then?”

“Was.” Tyrion pushed the half-empty container of potato salad away. “She was my wife.”

Mya blinked. _Wife?_ “I didn’t know you were married.”

“I was young. Stupid. It was brief.” Something in Tyrion’s tone suggested Mya leave it alone, but she couldn’t. She’d known Tyrion Lannister since she started at Queenscrown, an 18-year-old girl still wet behind the ears. Not once had she thought about him as anything other than what he was - a sharp, cutting, professor who graded a little hard and had a penchant for being in on jokes everyone else missed. To her he’d never been a child. He’d just sprung out of the ground, fully formed.

“What happened?”

“I trusted her. Too much so.” Tyrion slid off his chair and crossed the small room. He stared out the grimy, wet window, hands clasped behind his back. “When I was sixteen I went to a boarding school, the same as Jaime and my sister. The school was prestigious, in the nicest little town in the mountains out west. We would go home for Christmas of course, but most years for Easter break we would stay at the school. We didn’t venture into the town very often. At all, really.  The year I was sixteen the spring was beautiful, even in the mountains. I felt cooped up and Jaime got sick of my bitching about it. one weekend he told me to just go down to the village. That was where I met Tysha. She said her father owned a few acres of land, a few orchards. She was helping to set up for the farmer’s market they were having that week. I couldn’t help it; I started a conversation with her. Even though we were from two different circles, to say the least, we had a lot in common. She loved to read, loved history, music, the arts. She-” Tyrion swallowed. “She didn’t even care how I looked.

“That weekend there were some out-of-town vendors. I don’t know where they were from, but one of them took a bit of a shine to her. She didn’t feel the same. The second day of the market I went looking for her. One of the vendors had her in an alley. You’re a smart girl, I don’t need to tell you what he was trying to do to her.”

The rain drummed louder on the roof, the music louder from below. Mya knew she should leave but she was rooted to her chair. “What did you do?”

“There was a pile of garden tools against one wall. I grabbed something. A shovel. A hoe. I don’t remember. He didn’t see me, so I cracked him over the head. It wasn’t very hard, but it got his attention to be sure. He started yelling and coming towards me. It’s almost funny to look back on. He wasn’t a huge man, but he was at least six feet tall. Relatively well-muscled. Angry, too. And then there’s me...a kid, a dwarf, barely over four feet, swinging at him with a hoe like I knew what I was doing. It was enough, though. It gave Tysha a chance to run and get the constable.

“I didn’t leave her side for the rest of the day. That night we went to the pub in town for dinner and we must’ve eaten...God, four chickens, and drunk them dry. I should’ve taken her home, gone back to the school, and let that be that.”

“You didn’t.”

“I was sixteen and drunk. The world is a much different place now than it was back then, but a sixteen-year-old drunk boy is always a sixteen-year-old drunk boy. We snuck into the old groundskeeper’s quarters on the school’s campus. The next morning I bribed an old judge in town and he married us. I know.” he held up a hand at Mya’s expression. “Again. Sixteen. No one’s smart when they’re sixteen. I don’t know what I thought we’d do. Apparently we weren’t as stealthy as we thought. By that afternoon the headmaster knew, and by that evening my father arrived at the school. You can imagine his reaction.”

“I’d rather not.”

“He’s not the type of...well, he wasn’t the type of man to yell. The quieter he got, the more trouble we were in. He barely spoke that night, at least until after he held a conference with my brother. I wasn’t allowed in, but after Jaime took me aside. He said...he said it had all been his idea.”

Mya furrowed her brow, leaning forward slightly. “Wait, _what_ was all his idea?”

“Tysha, her attackers, all of it.” Tyrion’s voice was quiet, strained. “He thought it was time I...well, I hadn’t…” Tyrion glanced at her, almost ashamed, and she understood. Her cheeks blazed and for a moment she was a naive college student again, one didn’t have any real experience with a man other than some sticky gropes in the back of her boyfriend’s father’s car. “She was a whore from the next town over. Jaime bought her for me. He never thought it would go as far as it did.”

“What happened?”

“My father was a military man. I’m sure you know that. He always had a certain coterie of fellow military men with him. Some of them were pretty rough men, men who should’ve been in prison for war crimes. They all owed him their freedom or their lives in some way. My father gave Tysha to them.”

“Wait, what do you mean, _gave_ her to them?”

“To punish me, he gave her to these men and ordered them to use her, and pay her for it. She was just a whore, what did it matter? It was just for a night, but it was enough.”

“Oh my _God_.” Mya felt nauseated. “Couldn’t you call the police or something?”

“They were paid to look the other way. He made me watch. While they raped her. He made me watch and when they were done he told me I would have her last, or he would have her killed. If she cried or begged them to stop, he would have her killed. After he had her collect her wages and go. Where, I don’t know. But I never saw her again. My father was able to sweep the whole thing under the rug but I can’t remember seeing Cersei laughing so hard as when it all happened. So, to sum up this magnificent view into my adolescence, Jaime will know the name ‘Tysha’.”

There was a long moment of silence while Mya tried to digest what Tyrion had thrown at her. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t imagine…if someone did that to me I’d do things to them that would make my in-laws proud.”

“No you wouldn’t.” Tyrion shook his head. “You’d want to. You’d imagine it to the point where you could smell the blood. But you wouldn’t do it. You’d let it fester and gnaw inside of you until they do it again. And then you’d do it.” He laughed once, humorless. “He’d probably still be alive if he hadn’t been with Shae. She was an escort when we met. I suppose once you develop a flavor for them it’s hard to stop.” Tyrion looked at his hands for an undeterminable amount of time.“Well, now that I’ve ruined your afternoon…”

“You haven’t!” Mya’s voice was shrill and forced. “I just wasn’t expecting such a story.”

“I bet if you put it in your rag it’d get me an innocent verdict. Or at least not guilty.” Tyrion glanced over and seeing Mya’s expression, grinned. It was a painful looking thing. “Don’t worry yourself, Ms. Stone. I’ve already inconvenienced you enough.”

Light footsteps sounded on the stairs leading down to the bar below. Without so much as a knock Asha pushed the door open, a glass and bottle of whiskey in her hand. She looked back and forth between Mya and Tyrion. “You’re having a party and you didn’t even invite me? I’m hurt.”

Mya stood. “I was just telling Tyrion he’ll be out of here by Friday at the latest.”

“Friday? I gave you till Thursday and I was being generous.” Asha set the bottle down on the table and picked up the cookie, nibbling at it. “Three days is long enough for Jesus to re-emerge, it’s long enough for a Lannister.”

“His brother will be in town on Thursday. I’ll try to get him over here then, but if not…” Mya shrugged. “It’ll have to be Friday.”

“His _brother_?” Asha shook her dark head. “No. Absolutely not. He’ll wind up telling his sister and then we’ll be mysteriously raided. I’ve made it nearly 39 years without going to jail. That’s a family record.”

“Booze isn’t illegal anymore.” Tyrion pointed out.

“You honestly think that’s all that’s dealt out here?” Asha snorted in disbelief. “You’re supposed to be worldly and wise, aren’t you?”

Tyrion just stared at her a moment before he spoke. “You won’t have to worry about Jaime telling Cersei where I was. They haven’t been on good terms in some time.”

Asha smirked after a moment. “It’s got to be awkward when your brother dumps your sister.”

Tyrion seemed to be relieved to off the topic of Tysha. “Regardless, my brother won’t cause any problems. You have my word.”

“He better now.” Asha brushed cookie crumbs off her hands. “I’ve got some errands to run. Vic’s downstairs and he’s in charge. Mya, why don’t I give you a lift?”

“Oh, I-” Mya trailed off as she looked towards the window. The rain was falling heavier now and she didn’t relish trying to find a cab again. “I’d really appreciate it.” She looked at Tyrion, slightly resigned. “I’ll get your message to your brother.”

“Thank you. And, once again, I’m sorry about the regrettable tale.” Tyrion picked up one of the books left on the table, running his stubby fingers over the cover. “You’d best go.”

* * *

Asha pulled her sporty little coupe out of the alleyway, windshield wipers flapping. Mya rubbed her temple, feeling a headache starting to bloom. “There’s a nasty little rumor going around that your uncle’s going to increase the taxes on imports and exports, _and_ install a toll on the bridges going in and out of the city.” Asha said suddenly.

Mya had heard rumors of such a toll around the office and knew the _Lantern_ ’s political editor had been digging for more details on it. “I know.”

“Your father, then his bitch of a wife, then her bitch of a father, nearly bankrupted this city.” Asha drummed her fingers on her steering wheel. “Tywin started to fix it, and your uncle’s got a hardon to get the city’s ledgers in the black before he’s voted out.”

Mya shuddered. “Lovely image. Why’s it matter to you?”

“It’s going to gum up our gears, for one thing. It’ll cause a dip in Euron’s profits, for another.” Asha glanced over as she stopped at a red light. “There’s something else.”

“Listen, Asha, I know Stannis’s trying to salvage this city puts a damper on your plans but I really don’t-”

“It’s about Roose Bolton.”

A cold hand gripped the back of Mya’s neck. She hadn’t seen Roose in 10 years, hadn’t spared him a thought in at least eight. “What about him?”

“He’s been making himself quite comfortable in prison.”

“How comfortable?”

“Well…” Asha turned off one of the wide boulevards onto a narrower street lined with small boutiques and cafes. At the end of it was the bakery and ice cream shop Mya and Theon would take the kids after concerts at school. Its window were brightly lit in the gloomy day, their display of cakes and pastries  gleaming brightly. _The kids have a choir concert tomorrow night_ , she thought, distracted. _You need to make sure their dress shirts are clean_. Asha parked her car in front of Mya’s house and let it idle, windshield wipers flapping ineffectively. “Prison isn’t so different than high school was. There are cliques, gangs, whatever you want to call them. They like to establish a pecking order pretty quick. Ol’ Roosey pecked his way right to the top.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Roose Bolton was in her past, in her family’s past. Even when Mya saw the scars crisscrossing Theon’s body it was his son she thought of, the wet splatter of his brain against a dirty warehouse floor.

“Because I have to tell either you or Theon, and you know how he gets.” Mya did. Roose and Ramsay were a taboo subject in their home, and had been for as long as she could remember. One Sunday when Rodrik had been a baby, Mya and Theon had taken him over to Riverrun for Sunday dinner. Brynden Tully had been there and had mentioned in an offhand manner that Roose’s wife, one of Roslin’s half-sisters, had given birth to a girl shortly after Roose went to prison. Theon’s jaw had clenched so hard Mya swore he’d broken a tooth. It had taken him a week before he was back to normal. Asha went on, examining her nails. “Anyway, with these prison gangs, they’re like gangs on the outside. And they have contacts with gangs on the outside. Roose is pulling strings from the inside that are affecting things on the outside. It’s starting to affect our business.”

“Your business.”

“Don’t get pedantic with me, dove.” For the first time there was a warning note in Asha’s voice. “I”m telling you this because whether you like it or not, ‘our business’ involves Theon and, indirectly, you. We’re going to try and deal with Roose, and since Theon’s Theon, I have to tell you instead.”

“Wait, deal with Roose?” Mya held up a hand. “Asha, I swear to God, if you _dealing_ with Roose winds up in even so much as a hair on my children's heads, or Theon’s getting hurt…”

“Why would it? Roose doesn’t know it was Theon that shot Ramsay. The official story was that Brynden Tully did it, remember? 's far as anyone knows Theon wasn't even conscious when Ramsay died.”

Mya did. Roose’s trial had happened the summer after Ramsay’s reign of terror. She and Theon had both been called to testify, and they’d made the prosecution’s case a cakewalk. The handsome young police officer and his younger, pregnant wife telling their horror story with wavering voices had the entire city on tenterhooks for weeks. Brynden had been a star too, a stoic and trusted war hero recounting what he’d seen with hollow eyes. He’d admitted to shooting Ramsay twice; once to disarm him, once to end him. When all three of them, plus Robb, had given the same testimony of what they’d seen, Roose hadn’t stood a chance He’d been sentenced to spend at least the next twenty-five years of his life rotting in jail. _Only he’s not rotting, is he._

Asha was still talking. “And let’s say that Roose, after ten years, did decide to get some revenge. Brynden’s floating around some fucking mangrove swamp right now, isn’t he? He can handle himself. Your sprogs will be just fine.”

Mya saw a yellow school bus trundle past at the next cross street. It would rumble to a stop at the nearby park, dispersing schoolchildren into the gloomy afternoon. With any luck, hers would be among them. “That’s the kids’ bus. I’ve got to go.” Gripping the door handle, she turned one last time to Asha. “Keep this away from my family. Do you understand?”

Asha raised her eyebrows a hair. “You’d be ticked off at me if we took out Roose without telling you. You’re ticked off at me for telling you we’re going to do it. You are a hard to please woman. I don’t know how my baby brother does it.”

“I keep him busy.” Mya hesitated. She’d never hidden anything from Theon before. No secrets. How many times had they said that to each other? “Should I tell Theon?”

“You know him better than I do at this point. Use your best judgement. You’ll do the right thing.”

Mya stood on the sidewalk as Asha pulled away, unsure what the right thing was. After a moment she took a breath and adjusted a pin in her hair. She’d meet the kids at their bus stop, maybe take them to the ice cream shop. She could use the distraction.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Theon slouched in his creaky chair in St. Anne’s auditorium, hat on his knee. On stage, Alyce’s kindergarten class was joined by the first-graders - four risers filled with children in their Sunday best. He squinted, trying to find the one that belonged to him.

“Third row,” Mya whispered next to him. Robb and Roslin were on her other side. “Fifth from the left. Right next to Catie. And Beth’s in the back row, right in the middle.”

He cast her a small smile in the dark. She’d probably be able to name off every kid in Alyce’s class, complete with home address and date of birth. “Thanks, dove.”

She leaned over, pecking his shoulder as the choir director took her spot in front of the stage. Even in her penguin garb and wimple, she looked familiar to Theon, but he couldn’t place her. All of a sudden, it hit him like a bolt of lightning. _Can’t be…_

Robb had attended the exclusive, snobby St. Anne’s Academy since kindergarten. When Ned Stark took Theon in, Theon was eight, and was halfway through the third grade. _Well, it would’ve been third grade. Pa had those tutors brought in from God knows where so we wouldn’t have to leave Pyke._ Due to the massive stress of his family situation, plus changing schools mid-year, Theon’s grades had suffered greatly. He still remembered sitting uncomfortably outside the headmistress’s office with Ned and Cat while they spoke inside. He couldn't make out individual words, but he could hear Ned’s low rumble from time to time. After what seemed like a year they’d called him in. It had been decided that he would repeat the third grade. It wasn’t a punishment, Ned had told him. He remembered the heavy feel of Ned’s hand on his shoulder. Holding him back would just put him on equal footing. It was for the best.

Seeing the rest of his classmates advance while he returned to Sister Rose Marie’s third-grade classroom that fall had been humiliating. He’d sat in his seat, eyes burning, face twisted in an angry scowl for the first month. Now, he wasn’t just the kid with the mobbed-up family who didn’t want him, he was the class dunce too. Robb was in his class now, the Stark golden boy. Sister Rose Marie, who’d been so hard on him the previous year, now seemed to pity him. Even now, nearly 25 years later, Theon didn’t know if he appreciated it, or if he had learned to loathe pity yet.

Gradually, as much as he resisted, being around Robb all day and all night now wore down his shell. By Christmas they’d formed a tentative friendship. Robb was already a little burlier than most of their classmates, and Theon had been a dirty fighter for as long as he could remember. Together they’d quickly silenced any jeers Theon received, and by the end of the school year he and Robb were best friends.

Their senior year two things happened. The first was that the school enacted a fine arts requirement for all the grades. Students could chose to be in an orchestra, a band, or a choir. Robb, lacking any musical ability whatsoever, had picked the choir. He said he could at least mouth the words. Theon, lacking any inclination one way or the other, followed suit. While the golden boy dutifully attended every rehearsal, Theon usually used the class time to pull one girl or another into some dark corner of the gymnasium. He’d stopped caring about his grades long ago and was now merely going through the motions until graduation that June.

Just after Christmas break there had been another meeting with the headmistress. This time it was just Theon sitting alone in Headmistress Mordane’s office. He slumped with all the ennui and surliness his 19-year-old self could muster, glaring at the old penguin. She’d rapped him across the shins with the narrow edge of her yardstick for his insolence, and then had told him he was in danger of being held back a second time. He’d tried to act like he didn’t care but in all honesty her words struck straight to his core. He didn’t want to be a 20-year-old high school senior and God knew the Headmistress was sick of seeing him in her office, so he’d finally agreed to put in a solid effort during the last semester.

It had gone well. Surprisingly he didn’t struggle too much with the curriculum, and the nuns seemed impressed, or at least pleased,  with his work. Granted, he could’ve spit on paper, turned it in and they’d have been amazed to see him hand anything over. The one thorn in his side was the damn choir. Greyjoys weren’t bred to perform in front of a crowd. It was demeaning. Even though Theon’s father was dead by then he could feel Balon’s scorn at the mere thought of it. The thought of being held back because of a damn choir class though...it was unthinkable.

In March the second thing happened. The nun who directed the choir didn’t wake up one morning. The archdiocese had sent some novice sister, a girl who hadn’t even taken her vows yet, to finish out the year with the school’s choirs. Theon remembered her as a petite thing, pretty enough with strawberry blond hair and deep green eyes. Her name was Grace Tanner, soon to be Sister Mary Grace. She had a slight backwoods charm about her that Theon had found oddly appealing. It had been simple to stop and see her after school one day, metaphorical hat in his hands, to explain his sob story and how he just couldn’t bear to be held back again. She was only a few years older than him, if that, new to the city and dazzled by all it had to offer. Seducing her to secure his grade had been a cakewalk. After he graduated he hadn’t spared Grace Tanner a second thought. Now, he felt a little guilty about it. She’d developed far greater feelings for him than he had her, and had even mentioned she was willing to forgo becoming a nun for him. That had made Theon uncomfortable, and all the easier to cast her aside after he was done with her.

Tonight, 14 years later, he had to hide his incredulous laughter in a fit of coughing. Mya glanced over, her brow furrowed. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he wheezed. “Say, let me see the program, wouldja?”

Mya handed it over and Theon scanned the faculty list on the back page. _Sure enough, Sister Mary Grace. I’ll be damned._ Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered Rodrik saying he didn’t think the choir director liked him very much, but she simply adored Quenton. _That makes sense. He’s you in miniature and you know how women can hold grudges. I bet she stayed here all this time just to see if you’d ever darken her doorstep again. And everyone adores Quent. He’ll probably be the only Greyjoy to never see the inside of a jail cell._

The piano at the front of the auditorium started jangling, and the choir joined in, mostly together. Theon had no idea what song they were trying for, but Alyce looked like she was having a good time up on stage. It felt like an hour before they bowed and dutifully streamed offstage. “Thank Christ,” he muttered, going to stand up. He’d gotten out of work late and had had to speed home, collect his family, and speed to the school. Lunch was a distant memory and dinner was wishful thinking.

Mya’s hand clamped on his knee like a vise. “Sit.”

“What, I’m just going out to the lobby for a sec. I’ll be right back.”

She was glaring; he could feel it. “The boys are up next.”

“This doesn’t have an intermission?”

“Has it ever?” She hissed. “Just sit.”

He did so as the next two grades started to fill the risers. “They better fucking sing fast.”

They didn’t, of course. By the time the house lights finally came up Theon was convinced his stomach had eaten itself. He gave Mya a slightly pleading look. She patted his knee. “We’re taking the kids to the ice cream shop, if you can make it that far. C’mon. They’ll be waiting for us in the lobby.”

The lobby was packed with kids, parents, grandparents; everyone and their mothers had come to this concert. Theon hung towards the back of the crowd while Mya waded in to try and extract their kids. Robb squeezed out of the auditorium door, sidestepping a wandering toddler and coming to Theon’s side. “Brings back memories.”

Theon just snorted. “Not necessarily good ones.”

Robb leaned against a granite statue of the patron saint of something or other. Theon never could remember those. “You haven’t been yourself lately.”

“Sure I have.” Theon couldn’t look at Robb, and instead kept scanning the crowd. Sister Mary Grace was talking to someone’s mother, and despite himself Theon felt the urge to slink out of the building. _So long as she doesn’t see you. Half their nun training is how to hit kids with yardsticks._

“No you haven’t.” Robb was still talking. “You’re wound up about something and it’s starting to affect your work. Seaworth wasn’t impressed with your report on the Martell interview.”

“That interview was a mistake.” Theon would’ve punched his sister for a cigarette just then. “I shouldn’t have even gone there.”

“I just wish you’d tell me what’s got you all balled up.” Robb drummed his fingers on the statue’s marble base. Theon knew he wouldn’t let up until he was given some line or another. His mind flailed past images of steaks, pies, and potatoes and landed in a minefield of an excuse.

“Mya might be pregnant again.” It was a lie, of course. Alyce’s birth hadn’t been easy on Mya, and the doctor had recommended they not have anymore. That had been fine with Theon, but Mya had been disappointed. She’d always dreamed of a large family, and to lose the dream was hard.

Robb’s eyes widened slightly. He steered Theon out of the lobby into a small alcove with a line of payphones in them. The sound of the crowd was muffled out here. Robb’s voice echoed off the dark walls. “Are you serious?”

“Maybe.” Theon’s tone was forceful. “It’s still early, you can’t say anything to anyone. Not even Rosie. I mean it. She can’t keep a secret and Mya’s worked up enough about this.” That may have been pushing it too far. Robb hated keeping things from Roslin, but Theon knew if Robb told Roslin she’d have Mya on the horn before anyone could stop her. _If you’re gonna sell this, sell it._ “You know how badly she wants another kid, even now.”

“Yeah,” Robb said after a minute. “Yeah, I get it. I won’t say anything. What am I supposed to tell Seaworth though? He reports directly to Stannis, who’s always looking to save a few clams. You need to keep your head screwed on, or else the clams he saves are gonna be your paychecks.”

“I know.” Could’ve been a teacher, lecturing like that. “Listen, he’s not gonna have me canned for one bum interview. Especially not when I’m keeping a roof over his niece’s head.” That’s a load of bull right there. “ But I’ll do better. We’ll probably know in another few days, one way or the other.”

People were starting to leave the lobby now, a soft puff of spring breeze slipping into the alcove every time one of the heavy doors opened. Robb was looking at him with the kind of compassion that drove nails into Theon’s stomach. He’d thought he’d have gotten used to lying to Robb by now. “Do you hope she is?”

For a minute it was like Mya really _was_ pregnant, that he didn’t know for a fact that she wasn’t, that she hadn’t found a doctor through Asha to get some contraption or another. He hadn’t asked for details; frankly, he knew all he needed to about the workings of a woman’s body. Nevertheless, Theon had the briefest image of her cradling a new baby in her arms, their other kids gathered around. With the next breeze that came through the alcove, it was gone, scattered like dandelion fluff. _It’s for the best. Another kid would be another mouth, the house isn’t big enough, and I’m still getting used to the ones we have._  “If she is,” he said finally, “I’m not about to turn it away.”

Robb clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I won’t say a word. To anyone. Listen, why don’t you bring your brood over to Riverrun for a bit?”

“I would but it’s getting late, and we were going to take them to The Dreamery Creamery. If we back out now, Quenton’s likely to murder us in our sleep.”

“Please, he couldn’t even kill a spider. I’ve seen him try.” Robb snorted.

Theon gave him a quick grin. “He’s got a crush on one of the counter girls there.” A flash of movement caught his eye. “Incoming.” The word had no sooner left his mouth than Eddie, Beth and Catie barreled into Robb, each clamoring for his attention and asking if he’d heard them sing. “Listen, we’ll stop over for dinner sometime next week, yeah?”

Robb paused in trying to talk to three of his kids at once. “That’s fine. Just...keep me up to date.”

Theon gave a small salute and waded through the thinning crowd to where his family was waiting. He hitched up a smile, shoving the looming shadow of his lies to the back of his mind where they belonged. _A few more days and things’ll be back to normal._ “Alright, who’s hungry?” 

* * *

The Dreamery Creamery was bright and busy this time night. An Audiophone was parked in the corner, equally shiny. It cost a penny per song, so Theon had emptied his pocket change into his kids’ hands, setting them loose on it. They were crowded around it at the moment, Rodrik trying to heft Alyce up so she could see the selections. _There’s no point; she can’t read that well yet._ Quenton kept glancing over his shoulder at the girl manning the register. Theon couldn’t blame him - she was cute, in a perky teenager way with gleaming blond hair and a rear end that didn’t quit. _He may be my son after all._

Mya sat across from him at a slightly rickety table, poking at her strawberry sundae. She hadn’t slept well the night before, and looked wan today. She glanced up at him, at the kids, then back at him. “What if this doesn’t work? What if Jaime doesn’t want him?”

Theon traced the table top’s woodgrain. Late last night she’d told him a story Tyrion had told her that afternoon, the one where his father had turned Tyrion’s girlfriend - _or was it wife?_ \-  over to a pack of...well, rapists. She’d clearly been upset by it. “Then...I dunno. We either fix up the attic for him or convince him to turn himself in.”

“He’d never make it in prison. You know that.”

“He’s kind of scrappy. He might.” Honestly Theon would love it if Tyrion wound up in custody. It’d lighten his conscience a considerable degree.

Mya nibbled a strawberry, her shoulders slumped. “Maybe.”

Theon felt a hot flash of anger, looking at her. She didn’t deserve to be put in the position she was in. Hell, neither did he, for that matter. They’d been doing good. They’d been in a good place. Who did Tyrion think he was to come in and toss all their cards in the air like some petulant child? _You could just take care of it. It’s not like you’ve never killed anyone before. Do it, cart him down to the river, and wait for him to float. Make it look like he did it himself. Wouldn’t be the first time._

Mya tucked her hand into his, her fingers icy. “D’you want your cherry?”

“Of course I do.” Theon plucked it out of his dish and tapped her on the nose with it. “But since I’m such a nice guy, you can have it.”

Mya rolled her eyes, but took it nonetheless. “How magnanimous.”

“Hey, can you still tie the stem in a knot with your tongue?”

“Not in public, no.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m glad you’re keeping your cool about this. If it weren’t for you I’d’ve gone off the deep end.”

Theon raised his eyes, and her small smile went straight through him. She gazed at him a moment longer, chewing the inside of her lip the way she did when she was thinking. “Listen, Asha told me-”

Her words were cut off by their kids galloping neck to the table, coins spent. Rodrik straddled his chair, grey eyes glinting  “Hey Pops, Sister Mary Grace remembers you.  First day of school when she did attendance she turned all red and grumpy when she got to me. Remember I told you that? ”

“Yeah.” Theon wasn't about to regale the boys with tales of his conquests. “Yeah, she was my teacher way back when.”

“She don't like you.”

“Doesn't.” Mya corrected him. “And I'm sure she doesn't remember your father. It's been 15 years.”

 _I’m sure she_ does _remember me._ Theon coughed, and Mya glanced at him, her gaze sharp as a blade. _What did you do to her?_ , the glance said. Theon merely ruffled Quenton’s hair, trying to adopt a casual air. “It's no big deal. Let's get the lead out. It's almost bedtime for the bunch of you.” Fishing around in his pocket, he slapped a few coins into Quent’s hand. “Go on and get a few loaves of their bread.” Quenton looked towards the bakery side of the store, then back at Theon, his cheeks pink. “Go on. She won’t bite.”

Theon watched Quenton make his way over to the rack of bread, chuckling internally when the register girl went to help him. “Sorry, dove, what’d my sister tell you?”

Mya was fidgeting with Alyce’s coat buttons, but her hands stilled. “Nothing.” She smiled at him. “Nothing important.” 

* * *

Later that night Theon stood under the hot shower spray. He was exhausted, but knew if he tried to sleep now it wouldn’t work. He’d see Mychel Redfort’s car sailing off the road, hear the echo of a hundred quick whispers from his silenced rifle, smell pools of coppery blood, see the shocked look in Robb’s eyes. Some nights were worse than others, and tonight would be one of them. _Someday you’ll be able to stop all of it. Hell, maybe someday you’ll be able to come clean to Robb._ He snorted to himself. _Once he’s in the ground, maybe._ The thought of his best friend pushing up daisies made Theon felt cold and queasy at once. He cranked the hot water all the way up until it passed.

There was a tentative, perfunctory knock on the bathroom door before he heard it open. “Theon?”

Something about Mya’s voice made Theon’s gut twist again, and he peeked out of the shower. “What’s wrong?”

Mya was barefoot, wearing just her slip, stooping to pick up his discarded clothes. “I just took a call from my mother...someone I know died.”

“Aw, dove. Who?” From the shower Theon was able to wrap his hand around her wrist, tugging her towards the tub. “Put those down.” When she was close enough he nudged the straps of her slip over her shoulders. “Come on, get in. It’ll make you feel better.”

Mya sniffled and swiped a hand across her cheek as she stepped into the shower. “One of my friends - we grew up together. We went to the same school - there was only one in Eyrie and the classes weren’t that big. My mom was his dad’s secretary at Arryn Aviation, and we got invited to their house for dinners all the time. Christmases, that sort of thing. We were actually seeing each other for awhile - it started just after we graduated. He came down to the city to go to the boys’ college while I went to Queenscrown. We...I guess you could say we were getting serious. I kind of thought we’d get married. We were together for almost a year when he broke it off.” She wiggled in his arms, leaning back against his chest. Theon suspected she didn’t want him to see her cry over an ex-boyfriend, and wrapped an arm around her. The steam from the shower was making the scent of her perfume rise around him, heady and distracting. “His dad had been giving him a lot of heat to end it. I was a ‘nice girl’ and all, but…” she shrugged. “We weren’t rich. It was just my mom and me, Gramma when she could help, but we didn’t have a lot. The Redforts did. They were one of the first in the town to get a car, one of the first to get phone lines, that sort of thing. They didn’t exactly rub it in people’s faces, but Mych’s parents were very proud. I guess it didn’t register with me till later on that they had us over for dinner more out of pity than anything. A sense of duty.”

Her voice became a dull buzz in Theon’s ears. _Mych Redfort. You_ killed _her childhood friend. Keep rackin’ up those points, Greyjoy._ Glad she was facing away from him, he rested his chin on her shoulder. He was used to feeling guilty, but the feeling blooming in his gut now was worse than that. He’d have to make this up to her somehow, even if she never knew he was the one who’d killed Mychel. The idea left him feeling uneasy. They’d never kept secrets from each other. _You also never killed her ex-boyfriend before._ She was the only person he didn’t lie to, and he didn’t want to start now. “What happened?”

“He married a girl- oh. Car accident. You know how the roads get up in the mountains. He went over a drop-off.” Mya was silent for awhile, her lips resting against his forearm. “The funeral’s Monday, Mom said.”

“Do you want to go?” Theon prayed she would say no. If she went he’d have to go. Killing a man was one thing, but seeing his family grieve was another. _Which is worse - you killing him or him buying that bog and sending you to prison for the rest of your life? You did what you had to do._

“I don’t think I do,” she responded. “I can only handle so many funerals in a week. And it wouldn’t be appropriate. We hadn’t spoken in years.”

Theon tried to inject some sympathy into his voice and steer the conversation into safer waters. “I’m sorry he died, dove, but I’m not sorry he dumped you.”

He felt the ghost of a smile against his arm. _Good, that’s good._ “Why’s that?”

“Because if he hadn’t, he probably would have married you, and we’d have to figure out a way to explain me being in a married woman’s shower.”

“Oh come on, it’s not like it’d be the first time.”

Relief started to percolate in Theon. “It’s such a hassle though. And everyone gets their nose out of joint.”

Mya squirmed again, turning to face him now. Her eyes were still red, but she wasn’t crying anymore, thank the Drowned God. Best of all, her smile was growing. Some of the shower spray was dripping down her throat, her chest. A drop clung to the tip of her breast, and he brushed it away with a finger that lingered a little longer than necessary. “Speaking of out-of-joint noses, why does the kids’ choir teacher hate you?”

Theon followed another droplet of water with his eyes, trying to think of the best way to explain it. “Let’s just say I went above and beyond to pass her course.”

Mya’s blue eyes widened when she understood, and she smacked his chest. “You slept with a nun?!”

He laughed, pulling her close against him. She was warm, slippery, fitting perfectly against him. “She wasn’t a nun yet, she hadn’t taken her vows!”

“That makes it worse!” Mya stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. “You’re such a cad.”

“ A cad?” Theon slipped a hand lower, cupping her ass. She was hurting from her loss, and Theon’s nerves were singing. They both needed a distraction and try as he might, he couldn’t bat down the nagging guilt he felt. And really, it wasn’t like it was a chore to fuck his wife to take her mind off things. _Just don’t drop her like you did last time._ “Would you really have me any other way?”

“No.” She gave a small gasp when he lifted her, pressing her back against the tile wall. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and her smile was coy, but there was still a hint of sadness in her eyes. When she kissed him, her lips tasted slightly salty. “You’re still coming with me to the next Parents Night.”

* * *

When St. Baelor’s Cathedral was built, somewhere around the dawn of time, Theon suspected, the architects hadn’t taken into account that at some point in the future, people would need to park their cars near it. He and Mya had left the house later than they’d intended, and as a result had to park six blocks away. They were hoofing it on this windy morning, Mya gripping her black netted hat with one hand, hanging on to Theon’s arm with the other. She was having a hard time trotting in her heels and straight black skirt. Theon didn’t mind; the skirt clung to her hips and ass in a way he loved. She was slightly irked that she hadn’t had time to set her hair last night. Fucking in the shower seemed to take her mind off Tyrion, off Mych, off everything, so in order to ensure Mya and his own conscience slept peacefully, Theon had obligingly pulled her into bed and fucked her till two in the morning. _So what if her hair’s not perfect? No one’s going to notice._

The cathedral loomed over them, enormous, with twin pointed spires and elaborate stonework. The line of mourners extended out the door, down the wide stone steps, and down the sidewalk. The inside of the cathedral was as intimidating as the outside - soaring ceilings, intricate stained glass spilling rainbows of light onto the marble floor. Long rows of dead, bored-looking saints stared down at him from alcoves high above, their blank gazes accusatory. It was eerie, and made Theon feel uncomfortable as he stood in the line. It moved quickly enough, and soon enough Theon and Mya were nodding their condolences to Cersei, Tommen, Lancel, and a few other Lannisters Theon didn’t know. Jaime wasn’t among them. He didn’t come. He didn’t come and now we’re going to have that little skidmark living in our attic for the next 50 years.

What remained of Tywin’s family formed a receiving line. Cersei stood at its head, clad in black. Her face was carefully blank, as if she’d put on her own death mask that morning. Tommen was next to her. If Theon felt bad for anyone in that trainwreck of a family, it was Tommen. He’d only briefly met the boy at the Ambassador’s Dinner, and he seemed harmless. A little thick-skulled, maybe, but what 18-year-old boy wasn’t? _He’s bagged Margaery Tyrell. He must be doing_ something _right_. Craning his head a little bit, Theon could see Margaery herself, parked in one of the front pews. She was gazing at Tommen with compassion, an expression he wasn’t used to seeing on her. From time to time, Tommen would glance back at her with a sad little smile. Theon wasn’t a sentimental man, but there was something sweet between the two of them. It made him nauseous. To settle his stomach, he looked to see who else he recognized. Tywin had been a military man, and dotted through the crowd, Theon saw various dress blues and whites. Unbidden, he thought of Tyrion’s child bride. _Are any of them here?_

There were other recognizable faces in the first few rows: the Mayor, his wife, and advisor, although Theon had heard the red-haired piece of calico was doing far more than just _advising_ Stannis. She was dressed all in red, standing out in a sea of black like a jewel. Oberyn Martell was there as well, with his paramour, both looking supremely bored. Theon rubbed the back of his neck, hoping the ambassador wouldn’t see him. He still felt a knot of embarrassment about his horrid, botched interview.

They passed Cersei without her acknowledging them and made their way to one of the transepts. It had been roped off for press, and was quickly filling. Mya nabbed a seat in one of the front rows, scanning the crowd.

“There,” she whispered, nodding at the altar. “He’s there.”

Theon glanced back at the altar. A tall, vaguely familiar-looking man had joined Cersei and was whispering something to her now. He exhaled, a bit of the anxiety in his chest easing. “Good.”

Mya toyed with her handkerchief, twisting it in her fingers as they looked at Jaime Lannister. He looked older, of course, but he’d aged better than Cersei. His skin looked tan, and he’d grown a beard in his time away. His hair was longer than was fashionable, but held no grey as of yet. Theon felt a flare of jealousy. Jaime also kept his right hand tucked firmly in his suit coat pocket, making shaking hands with the mourners supremely awkward. _Is it going to be more or less awkward when you corral him? Last time he saw you you were railing Mya cross-eyed in the front seat of the Rolls._ The memory brought a faint smile to his lips. _He used to be Kingsport’s most eligible bachelor. Every woman he met’d go starry-eyed over him. Now he’s hardly recognizable._

Whatever Jaime had whispered to Cersei, she had no reaction whatsoever, and was acting as if her twin brother wasn’t even there. After a moment, his jaw hardened under his beard and it was like a wall went up between them. _Interesting._ There had long been rumors that the Lannister twins were closer than nature’s laws allowed. Theon smirked.   _Wonder if ol’ Tywin had a hard time when his kids broke up with each other?_

The pews around them were starting to fill in as the line of mourners grew shorter and shorter. The droning organ music filling the air became louder. Next to him, Mya’s pen was poised over a small notepad, ready to scribble down the same details every other paper would have. A long procession of priests, a bishop, and a handful of white-clad altar boys made their way slowly down the center aisle. They were swinging heavy gold thuribles on chains; thick, cloying smoke drifted towards the ceiling. Theon forced himself to straighten slightly as the bishop started chanting in Latin. He’d never really picked up on the dead language, and it was going to be a chore to keep himself awake through the funeral rites. The two times a year Mya dragged him to church, he’d started replaying his favorite movies in his head to pass the time. Today, he decided, it’d be _It Happened One Night._ If anything was going to get him through an hour of incense and Latin, it’d be the thought of Claudette Colbert’s leg.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

When Mya was seven, her grandfather died. Just like that. One minute he was alive, eating Gramma Stone’s steak and egg breakfast, and the next he was sprawled out on the floor. She’d overhear later that he’d had a vein burst in his brain. She remembered the funeral, people telling her her grampa hadn’t suffered, that there hadn’t been any pain. She remembered standing at the gravesite, a dark gash in the ground, between her mother and grandmother while Grampa’s box had been lowered into it. She also remembered that after, there’d been a meal. Lunch. Dinner. It hadn’t mattered. When you buried someone, you ate after. 

23 years and 200 miles later, the same ideals rang true. The Lannisters had trundled off in their limousines from the church to put Tywin in the ground, and the rest of the congregation waited at the posh, exclusive country club he’d belonged to outside of Kingsport, picking at unpronounceable hors-d'oeuvres. Mya nibbled one, a fig stuffed with ricotta, pistachios, and something else.. . _Honey._ It coated her throat, sweet and burning.Theon appeared at her side, holding two glasses of champagne. He handed her one, resting a hand on the small of her back. “It’s too early,” she said.

Theon shrugged and took a healthy sip. “It’s never too early.” He was anxious, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Christ, how long does it take to drop that bastard’s box?”

Two old women passed in time to hear his last words and gave her and Theon a scandalized look. She rested her hand against his stomach, gently aiming him away from the old biddies. “I know you’re anxious but can you  _ try  _ to behave, at least?”

“I’m not anxious. This suit’s just itchy.”

Mya smiled wanly. “You’re a better liar than that.”

Theon started to reply but stopped, nodding slightly towards the back of the room. “There.”

Mya followed his gaze, sipping her drink. Cersei and the rest of the Lannisters had filtered in with no pomp or ceremony. Tommen’s eyes looked slightly red, and Margaery took his hand, murmuring something to him. Even from across the room Mya could see Cersei’s jaw tighten.  For a minute she wondered if the former mayor would actually strike her boss. Decorum won out, and Cersei kept her anger in check.  _ This time. _ Part of her was disappointed. She’d always thought Margaery had a certain scrappiness to her, and that she could easily handle herself if need be.

Jaime trailed in some time after his sister, speaking to a woman Mya hadn’t noticed at the funeral. Looking at her now she didn’t see how she could’ve missed her. She was tall, taller than Jaime, and broader in the shoulders. Her face was turned away from Mya, but she could see a shock of close-cropped straw-colored hair showing beneath the sharp hat she wore. The only way Mya could even tell she  _ was _ a woman was because of the clothes she wore. Someone had made a valiant attempt to tailor her formal military uniform. They’d nipped in the waist of her dark blue coat, giving it a slightly peplum effect. The skirt looked custom made, but poorly so. It was all to no avail. The woman’s body was boxy, awkward, and decidedly unfeminine. She wasn’t the only military member at the funeral, but where Tywin’s old war cronies were gathered around a table, she stayed firmly away from them. Mya chewed the inside of her cheek, remembering Tyrion’s story. Were any of those men here, now?

Theon gawped and whistled, interrupting the disturbing images starting to unfurl in her mind. “I’ve heard of people going for their ex’s exact opposite. Hell, Robb always had a thing for blondes, and look at Rosie. Jaime’s taking it to extremes.” When Mya glanced at him, his expression was contemplative. “She could snap Cersei like an old bone, though.”

“She could snap all of us like old bones.” Mya set her empty glass on a table and fiddled with the cuff of her blouse. “I’m going to go talk to him.”

“Hang on.” Theon dropped his hand on her waist. “He’s likely to be more cooperative if you approach him later. He’s had a long day. Let him eat something and sit for a bit first. And stop fidgeting.”

With no small amount of effort Mya left her cuff alone. “I’m not fidgeting. And since when are you so nice as to let him sit down for awhile?”

“You are. You always do when you’re nervous. Now come on. We’ll find a table where we can see him so he doesn’t sneak out on us.” Theon touched her elbow, steering her towards a table. “And I’m not nice. When someone’s hungry or tired they’re going to be assholes. Look at Rodrik when he misses a meal. You want Jaime cooperative.”

Mya distracted herself by people watching. From her seat she could see the Mayor. He cast a cool glance her way before returning to his conversation with one of his advisors. It was more recognition than he’d shown Mya in years. Privately she thought Stannis might be gloating a little. Tywin Lannister had been one of his most ardent political opponents, even after Stannis had been elected. If Tywin hadn’t been such a public figure, or if Stannis didn’t have his cabinet begging him to think of his image, Mya knew he never would’ve come. From across the room she saw Cersei give him a scathing, cold look. In return, Stannis merely lifted his glass. 

“Y’know,” Theon popped a crab roll into his mouth. “ ‘f Cersei ever learns how to start fires with her mind we’re all gonna be in a heap of trouble.

“That’s an understatement, Sergeant.” Mya’s head snapped around at the heavily accented response. The Dornish ambassador had approached their table, his paramour on his arm. They were both dressed in dark, somber clothes, just like everyone else, but they still managed to look like they’d fallen out of a fashion magazine. Oberyn’s smile was suave and charming and despite herself, Mya felt a little flush at his gaze. “I remember seeing you at the dinner last week but I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Mya Stone.” Mya extended her hand but instead of shaking it, Oberyn lifted it to his lips, brushing them against the backs of her fingers. The gesture would’ve come across as foolish from anyone else. Next to her Theon suddenly looked as if his crab had gone sour.

“You’re with that paper, aren’t you? The  _ Lantern _ ?” Ellaria asked. “I recognize your name; I was just reading your biography on Tywin again this morning.”

“You bet. It’s why I’m here.”  Mya felt frumpy and awkward next to Ellaria who, even standing still, was as graceful as a swan. She cleared her throat. “I understand your daughters have joined you here? How do they like the city?”

“Well enough. They say it’s colder than they like, but I told them it’s hardly spring. They are having a bit of a hard time making friends, though.”

“There’s a ballet school not far from City Hall. Our youngest goes there. I can have the name of it sent to you if you like.”

Ellaria’s smile grew. “That’s so kind. I can’t say Elia, my oldest, will be receptive, but the younger ones should be.”

“I wanted to ask Sergeant Greyjoy here if he’d made any ground on this case.” There was a twinkle in Oberyn’s eye. Mya wondered if he could feel the tension and irritation rolling off Theon as much as she could. He glanced at Mya. “I suggested he question Tywin’s younger son but he appears to have gone to ground.”

“Wouldn’t be that far a trip for him, now would it.” Theon grinned sharply, purposefully ignoring the look Mya gave him. “We’ve got a few leads we’re following up on.”

“I do hope so. Having such a vicious murderer on the streets isn’t going to do anything for this city.” Oberyn chuckled. “Best of luck, Sergeant.”

After that the afternoon seemed to drag on. Plates of food were brought out and collected, speeches were given and largely forgotten. After what felt like a year Mya saw her chance. Jaime had risen from the head table, making for the door. His companion rose from her table and followed him out. Unable to wait, Mya touched Theon’s wrist.

“C’mon,” she murmured. They were able to slip out the glass door with no one noticing. There was a balcony running the length of the building. When it was warmer, it’d be full of tables and country club members eating cucumber sandwiches and lying about their golf games. Right now, the tables were stacked against the railing, neatly covered in tarps, having just been brought out of winter storage. 

Jaime and the woman stood at the far end of the balcony, looking out over the soggy golf course, their backs to them. When Mya had first met Jaime, he’d been cocky, confident. Smugness had oozed from every pore and it had made women flock to him. Now, his shoulders were slumped, his hair longer than fashion dictated it should be. His suit wasn’t the crisp, bespoke style Mya remembered him in. Theon had groused in the car that Jaime hadn’t even gotten any grey hairs in the past decade but up close it was clear he was wrong. Jaime’s golden hair was half silver. Theon touched Mya’s elbow, nodding towards the other man. This was her show. Mya cleared her throat.

“Mr. Lannister?”

Jaime turned, slightly startled. His green eyes narrowed for a moment. “Yes?”

For a moment Mya’s throat closed and her mouth hung open, useless. Theon stepped around her, extending his hand before seeming to remember something, pulling it back. “We’re both sorry for your loss."

Jaime gazed at Theon and Mya for a long moment. “Have we met?”

“Briefly. Years ago.” Mya found her voice. “Actually I-”

Jamie cut her off with an exasperated look at his companion, who was adjusting her coat, tugging at her skirt. “For God’s sake, woman, would you stop that? It’s not going to make it fit any better.” He turned back to Mya and Theon. “I’m sorry about that, and her. They had to sew two skirts together for her, did you know? And that jacket’s actually from a men’s uniform. They didn’t make any women’s uniforms big enough to fit this big lummox.” Mya was at a loss for words while Theon snorted back a chuckle. The woman’s expression suggested she was used to Jaime’s derision. “You know you didn’t even have to wear that. You didn’t even have to come.”

“It’s protocol.” The woman spoke for the first time. “And if I hadn’t come you’d still be stuck at the ferry dock with no one to drive you. No one remembers you here anymore and you haven’t even sat in a car for eight years.”

Jaime just made a non-distinct noise and turned his attention back to Mya. “You were saying we’d met.”

“Briefly.” She repeated. “I was a student of your brother’s.”

All at once Jaime’s expression lightened. “Oh, I remember you! The intrepid little gal reporter, is it?” Mya didn’t know if he was mocking her or not. 

“I’m a journalist, yes.”

Jaime’s eyes flicked to Theon. “And he’s still your muscle? A little scrawny, you ask me.”

“We didn’t.” Theon grumbled.

Jaime went on as if he hadn’t heard him. “She’s mine,” he said, jerking his head at his companion. “I’m none too popular with certain members of my family, and I’m not so good in a fight anymore. She’s Navy, though, and could probably tie my family in seven different kinds of knots. And she’s got a right hook that’ll knock you into next Tuesday. Now, what else do you want?”

Mya laced her fingers together. It was a risk, bringing Tyrion up straight away like she had, but he didn’t seem to be in the mood for beating around the bush. Trying to feed him a line about wanting a quote from him for an article would be asking for trouble. She looked at the other woman, tall and stern. “If we could have a word in private…”

“Brienne stays. Whatever you have to say to me you can say to her.”

Mya glanced at Theon, who just gave her a resigned shrug, then forced her words out. “I know where Tyrion is.”

Jaime’s eyebrows raised. “Do you. You’re still an officer, right Greyjoy? Must be awkward, your little woman impeding the investigation you’re right in the middle of.” He grinned sharply. “I bet it makes for interesting pillow talk.”

“Which is why we need you to take him out of this city.” Theon replied. “He came to us for help and since Mya can’t say no to anyone, apparently, here we are. He’s put us in a very uncomfortable position. If it’s uncovered that we’ve been aiding a wanted fugitive, we’d lose everything.”

“Seems to me that’s your problem.” Jaime rubbed his chin with his left hand, pointedly ignoring the look Brienne gave him. “He murdered his father.  _ My  _ father. In cold blood, from what I’ve heard.”

“He-” Mya looked to Theon helplessly. She didn’t want to rehash the entire crime right here, not when anyone could walk out. “He was provoked. Please, Mr. Lannister. He’s putting our lives at risk. Our children’s lives.”

“Let’s say I agree,” Jaime leaned against the railing. “What am I supposed to do with him?”

“Tie an anchor to him and chuck him in the ocean, for all we care.” Theon said. “I can tell you that if you  _ don’t _ help us he’s going to wind up in the bay with a hole in his head.” Mya started and whirled to stare at him.  _ He wouldn’t. _ His fingers tightened a miniscule amount on her shoulder, a silent command to keep quiet. He stared resolutely at Jaime. “If you think I’m joking, try me. You know what my family is. You know what they can do.”

Jaime looked surprised, then amused. “You’re threatening to kill him?”

“I’m promising to kill him. Or, if you prefer, to turn him over to your sister. Either way, if he stays in this city he’s going to wind up on a slab.”

Jaime was silent for a long while, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Brienne gazed at him, her expression impossible to read. On any other day Mya would love to try and figure out their relationship. In the few minutes she’d been talking to them it was impossible to pin down if it was platonic or something more. Finally he straightened, crossing his arms over his chest. With a jolt, Mya realized the reason he kept his right hand in his pocket - it was missing. His sleeve was neatly pinned over the stump of his wrist. He caught Mya staring, and tucked it back in his pocket. “Do you remember the last time we saw each other?”

Theon lifted his chin and Mya’s stomach tightened. “What of it?”

“It was in the parking lot of City Hall. You two were...well, Ms. Stone here was evading arrest, let’s say. Vigorously. All  _ I _ was trying to do was help you find the person responsible for a few deaths in the city. Do you remember what you did?” When Theon remained silent he went on. “You pulled your gun on me. Acted all tough like you were about to blow my brains straight out the back of my head.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that you didn’t intend to kill me that night, and you don’t intend to kill my brother now if I don’t help you. How do I know you’ve even been in contact with him? For all I know this is some sort of convoluted attempt to get an exclusive interview.”

Mya opened her small handbag, pulling out an ivory and jade makeup compact. It was an old one that she hardly used anymore, not since Alyce had accidentally dropped it while she was playing one day. The powder inside had cracked and spilled all over Mya and Theon’s bedroom floor. Now, Mya picked at the thin silver tray resting in the bottom of the compact. After a moment she was able to pry it out, revealing the small scrap of paper Tyrion had given her. She held it out. “He said you’d know what this meant.”

She watched Jaime’s face while he unfolded the scrap and saw his expression slam closed. Any amusement his green eyes had held was gone now. The woman, Brienne, looked over his shoulder. “Who’s Tysha?”

“No one.” Jaime crumpled the paper. “Just someone who got a raw deal.” He stared out across the golf course, empty and brown. A minute ticked by, and then another, and then another. Brienne glanced at Mya and Theon uneasily and touched Jaime’s sleeve. 

“You don’t have to-”

“I know.” He interrupted, then sighed. He raked his hand through his silvering hair and turned back to face them. “Where is he?”

“He’s…” Mya hesitated, not sure if Asha’s club could be considered ‘safe’ or not. “He’s somewhere secure.”

“That’s not the most reassuring thing I’ve ever heard.” Jaime replied.

“It’s secure until tomorrow.” Theon said. “After that the landlord’s going to get a little itchy.”

“Fine.” Jaime squared his shoulders, a decision apparently reached. “We’re leaving tomorrow afternoon. Give me the address and we’ll meet there at noon.”

The weight that had been hanging on Mya’s neck suddenly dissolved. Theon rattled off Asha’s address, relief evident in his voice. He regretted helping Tyrion, she knew. She did too.  _ We can get back to normal now. _

Brienne’s gaze flicked over their heads. “Your sister’s looking for you. She looks angry.”

“She’s been angry her whole life.” Jaime sighed wearily. “You two better scram before she sees you. She always hated seeing anything that reminded her of Bob and well, Ms. Stone, you don’t have your mother’s looks. Go on now.”

“Noon, tomorrow.” Theon reminded him.

“Yes, mother, I heard you. Now go away.”

* * *

Mya was distracted as they drove along the bay road, watching the waves lap at the shore. Away from the muted buzz of conversation, away from the looming problem of Tyrion, she could let her mind wander again. Theon had asked her if she wanted to go to Mych’s funeral last night. She’d said no at the time, but now she was rethinking it. Regardless of how they’d parted ways, they’d been friends since...well, as long as she could remember. She’d liked his family. His mother had always been welcoming, and his three older brothers had joshed her and teased her like they would their own sister. His father, maybe knowing he’d have to make his objections to her known eventually, had been reserved, but still kind. _And he did keep Mom on._ _Go. Theon doesn’t have to come. You can borrow Rosie’s car. Or take the train._

Her mind made up, she turned to Theon to tell him her decision. They’d stopped at a red light that had flicked to green, and his expression was pensive. When he didn’t accelerate after a minute she nudged his thigh. “You alright?”

“Huh?” He started as if in a trance. Mya nodded towards the light, and they started forward. “Sorry, I guess I was just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit.”

Theon drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, jittery and anxious. “I don’t really want to go home yet. Whadaya say to the boardwalk?”

Mya was surprised. It was barely April; the boardwalk would be boarded up until the end of the month, at least. But the smell of the ocean had always calmed Theon down and clearly, he needed it. “Sure.” 

The parking lot was predictably empty, small lines of sand blown across the asphalt by the wind coming off the bay. Tufts of dried, dead grass poked up through cracks here and there, withered after the winter, and the shrubs that lined the parking lot were barely starting to bud. The air was mild and thick at the same time. When Mya glanced up there was a long, low line of clouds starting to creep over the west side of the city, a dazzling white in the blue sky.

The boardwalk was empty. A few stray newspaper pages were wrapped around one of the piers, the print long-since faded. Mya tucked her arm into Theon’s elbow as they walked, without a destination in mind, to the end of the long pier. In her mind’s eye she could see it as it would be in a few weeks - loud, jangling music, crowded with people, children darting between people, throwing peanut shells over their shoulders as they went. There would be strings of bright lights looping between the tall pilings, the smell of fried food and cotton candy thick in the air. 

“I’m amazed that thing’s still there.” Theon nodded towards a narrow shooting gallery dug part of the way into a sandy hill. 

“Of course it is.” Mya smiled fondly. “You hoodwinked that old woman out of her best octopus.” Mya still had the stuffed animal. Well, actually Alyce had it now. It had made the rounds down through her children, and once Alyce outgrew it Mya planned on tucking it away in her closet.

“Hoodwinked my ass, she made a hell of a profit off me.”

Mya gazed around the pier. Towards one end was the strong man game Rodrik and Quenton insisted on competing at every year. Further down was the carousel Alyce loved. There was a maintenance man working on the guts of it, waist-deep in an access panel.  _ God help them if they take that pink seahorse away. Alyce’ll have their heads. _ Her eyes continued to wander. There, by the old photobooth, was where they’d first run into Asha and Qarl.  _ Asha… _ she’d nearly forgotten what Asha had told her about her plans for Roose, but now their brief conversation was knocking around inside her head.

“I talked to Asha the other day.”

“That’s always a fun ride. What’d she say?” Theon looked closer at Mya, his brow furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s not a big deal or anything.” Mya looked at her knotted fingers. “It’s just...Roose Bolton is sort of back in the picture.”

Theon was silent for a long moment. “He’s not getting out. I’d know if he was getting out.”

“No, he isn’t.”  _ Yet, _ she silently amended. “But Asha said he’s been pulling strings from prison, causing problems. Messing with your uncle’s profits, that sort of thing.”

“Paying someone for an early parole.”

“I don’t know. Probably.” Mya replied quietly. “All I know is what she told me. And that’s that she wants to have him taken care of before he gets to be much more of a problem.” When he didn’t respond she went on. “She just wanted you to know. In case you hear something about it. She doesn’t think he’s got any vigilante motives or anything. And really,” she tried to inject a note of confidence, “even if he did it wouldn’t be against you.” He remained silent. “Theon?”

“I heard you.” He braced his hands on the pier railing, staring out at the steely bay. “If she’s gonna do it she should just do it. Get it over with. She’s got people all over that prison, inside and out. Hell, if I didn’t think I’d get caught I’d do it-”

“Don’t.” Mya broke in. “Don’t even say that, because then you’re going to start thinking that you  _ can _ do it and you'll try and I'll be a widow. Just let Asha deal with it.”

“Does she really think I’m that delicate, that she couldn't tell me herself?”

“No.” Mya tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. “She knows you’re not.” Theon laughed mirthlessly, and she decided it wasn’t wise to say anymore about it.

“I’ve decided to go to Mych’s funeral. I thought it wouldn’t be appropriate but…” she trailed off. Seagulls shrieked overhead and dove, fighting with each other over fish swimming just under the water’s surface. For a long moment it was the only sound, along with the waves mouthing along the pier and the ever-present sea breeze. After a minute she looked over at Theon. He was leaning with one foot propped on the lower railing, leaning on the top one, staring out at the steel blue water. His jaw was clenched so hard she was surprised it hadn’t snapped. “You don’t have to go. I just...I suppose it’s the least I could do. From what my mom said it was a pretty bad accident.”

There was another, longer beat. When Theon spoke the wind tugged the words from his lips and she didn’t catch them. “What?”

“It wasn’t an accident.” He still wasn’t looking at her.

An iciness started deep in her chest, radiating out in a black stain through her body. “How do you know?”

“Because I cut his brake lines.”

Mya took an involuntary step back. His words hit her like a punch in the chest, and she gripped the splintery railing. “ _ Why _ ?”

“I had to. He was starting to dig around in Euron’s business.” 

“And killing him was the only answer? You couldn’t have paid him off?” Mya’s head was spinning and she wanted to sit down.

“Not about this. Listen-” Theon turned to her and went to grab her shoulders but she backed away from him. “Dammit, Mya, it was the only way. He was trying to buy out Euron’s land up north. If he had it would’ve put every single one of us in jail. Probably even you.”

“Euron’s - that swamp? You said it...that the bog breaks things down faster.”  _ It destroys the bodies. Don’t pretty it up. _

“Faster, but not immediately. And not entirely. You know as well as I do how many ‘deer bones’ have popped up in there. Redfort was going to buy it, drain it, and build on it. We couldn’t let that happen and you know it.” He took a step towards her, going to touch her but stopping at the last minute. “I did it for my uncle, yeah, but I did it for  _ us _ too.” When she didn’t answer he went on. The breeze off the bay tugged at his black overcoat, making it flap. “Do you remember the night I got you back from my uncle, when you said you made your choice?”

“Of course I do. But I didn’t mean-

“Didn’t mean it? Or meant it as long as what I did got on your shoes, too?” Theon’s smile was painful.

“No!” Mya’s mouth was dry. “He’d been my friend.”

“They’re all someone’s friend, or someone’s son, or someone’s brother, or father. You know that.” Theon let her go, his expression unreadable. “I don’t understand why this one’s any different.”

“Because I knew him.” Mya turned from him and stared out at the bay, at the smudge of land that was Pyke. As far as she was concerned the water could swallow that waste of rock and spare everyone a lot of grief.

“I didn’t know that.”

“Would it have mattered if you did?” Mya knew she was being petty and unreasonable and that she should stop, but she just couldn’t. When she was still a girl she used to picture what her life would be like if she’d married Mych like she wanted to. They would’ve had the biggest house on the street, of course, the newest car, their picture in the society pages every weekend and of course their wedding would have been the biggest event in the city.  _ It wouldn’t have mattered. He was so far under his parents’ thumbs it was a miracle he could see blue sky. You would’ve always come second in his life.  _

“Jesus, Mya,” Theon sounded downright angry, his voice breaking into her thoughts. He ran a hand through his hair. “Would it have mattered if I’d known he was someone you had a crush on fifteen years ago? No. Which would you rather have, a dead childhood friend you hadn’t seen in a decade or a husband in jail for the rest of his natural life?”

He was right, of course. Mya dashed a hand under her eyes. “I’d rather have you. You know that.”

“Then why are you so upset? You know what I’ve done in the past. You’ve never had a problem with it before.”

“I know.” Mya’s shoulders slumped as the fight went out of her. She’d made her peace with turning a blind eye to what he did years ago. Having it suddenly shining in her face, blinding as the sun, left her feeling wrong-footed. “It’s just...different.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Theon said after a minute.

“I shouldn’t have said anything about Roose.” Mya shook her head. Forcing herself to move, she wrapped an arm around his waist. “I’m sorry. I overreacted.”

He pulled her close, her cheek on his chest. “Yeah, you did. Are you ok now?”

Mya thought, chewing on the inside of her cheek. She would have to force Mychel Redfort into the foggy recess of her memory where she’d shoved everything else Theon had done for his family. Eventually, he’d become one of the many faceless figures floating around in there.  _ Maybe.  _ “We could just leave, y’know. Just pack up and go. Find some little town somewhere...you could be the sheriff, I’d write the entire town rag. We could find someplace with a big yard for the kids. Maybe get them another dog. Get out of this godforsaken city.”

She felt Theon’s humorless laugh in his chest. “You always were the creative one.”

“Someone has to be.” She blinked sudden tears away.  _ It’s just from the wind. _

“I’d never make it in the country.  _ You’d _ never make it in the country.”

“I made it in the country for 18 years, pal.”

“Yeah.” Theon nodded. “But you’re a city girl now.” When Mya didn’t respond, he pushed back far enough to look down at her. “You don’t really want to leave, do you? Leave Rosie and Robb, and our house? Your job?”

_ Sometimes. _ Mya looked at the familiar skyline of the city, knowing she couldn’t leave Kingsport any more than she could stop breathing. The city, for all its good and bad, was in her very bones now. “No, I don’t.”

Theon touched her chin with a finger, gently forcing her to look at him. “Are you ok now?”

“I will be, yeah.”

“That’s a girl. Now, I’ve got the afternoon off, and we don’t have to be home for another few hours. Whadaya say we run home and you slip into that green dress you wore last time we went into the Tunnel of Love?”

Mya made herself smile. Theon was trying. The least she could do was shove all her fears and uncertainties back under the river of her thoughts. “That was Milly Beesbury’s dress. And it wouldn’t fit me anymore.  _ And _ that ride isn’t even open yet.”

Theon gave her a look. “Please, dove, Greyjoys know how to pick locks straight out of the womb.” He slung an arm around her shoulders. “The funnel cake stand’s open. The funnel cake stand’s always open.”

Mya’s smile began to feel more natural. For a brief instant it was that sticky late-summer evening they’d met, all butterflies on her part and smarmy charm on his.  _ We’ve come so far. He thought he was going to get lucky that night. You slammed a car door into his man parts.  _ She draped an arm around his waist. “Fine. if you ask nice enough, I’ll let you buy me a funnel cake.”


	9. Chapter 9

Theon had spent so much of his morning glancing at the clock on the precinct wall he was convinced the damned thing was going backwards. It was just past ten-thirty right now; he was supposed to pick up Mya in an hour. The station was humming with the usual Friday conversation - the season opener against the Giants was tomorrow, and Theon was regretting not getting tickets.  _ Once this is done you can buy seats right behind home plate for every game for the rest of the season. _

Across the room Robb’s office door opened. He was in the middle of yearly performance evaluations and other administrative bullshit. Theon know he’d been living off a steady diet of antacids and little else. Robb hated critiquing officers, especially those who’d been on the force longer than he’d been. Personally Theon wasn’t too concerned. Robb had never given him anything but glowing reviews.  _ Well. Decent.  _ Now, a first-year cadet slumped out of his office and Robb was sitting at his desk, looking tired.  _ Maybe you can still score tickets for tomorrow. You could both use a break. _

The cadet slumped over to Theon’s desk and tried his best to square his shoulders. “He wants to see you. Lieutenant Stark does. In his office.”

Theon just grunted and tried to look disgruntled as he crossed the room. Robb was tossing another few antacids into his mouth as Theon slung himself into the chair opposite his desk, grimacing at the taste. He nodded at the door. “Shut that a minute, would you?”

A tiny prick of something wormed its way into Theon’s spine. Fear? No. Robb was nothing to be afraid of. Apprehension? He  _ did _ have his Boss Face on right now. Theon reached over from his chair and pushed the door shut. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah.” Robb leaned back in his chair. “How’s Mya feeling?”

Theon stared for a minute before remembering the impromptu story he’d fed Robb the other day. It felt like a month had passed since then. Overhead, the fluorescent light buzzed annoyingly. Something about the way it bounced off the dingy green-and-white tile floor was giving him a headache. “She’s fine, actually. She’s, uh, not pregnant.” 

_ She’s also not speaking to me. _ Mya had said she was fine when they were heading home yesterday, but as the evening had progressed Theon could see her thoughts turning in on themselves. She’d gone to bed early, claiming a headache. When he’d gone up to join her, hours later, she’d been feigning sleep. He’d lain awake for half the night, staring at ceiling. Every so often he’d tried to make himself touch her, pull her close, but his hands wouldn’t move. He knew she’d have to work through whatever anger she’d kept away from him, and that if he tried to help he’d probably only make it worse.

Oblivious to Theon’s thoughts, Robb nodded. “That’s a shame.” A long silence hung in the office. Robb had opened his window, letting in the thick city air. Sounds of the street drifted in from four stories down - horns, the occasional yell from one driver to the other, newsboys shouting out the latest headlines. There was a truck parked directly beneath them that was selling roasted ears of corn out of its bed, the vendor calling out his prices. The smell of it made Theon’s mouth water. A hot breeze blew in, ruffling the endless piles of papers on Robb’s desk and the long, low file credenza shoved under the window. “So as long as that’s not hanging over you you’ll have your head screwed on a little more, right?”

“Right.” There wasn’t any point in getting rankled. 

“Good. Because I got an earful this morning from Seaworth, who’s getting earfuls of his own, on why we don’t have anything on where Tyrion Lannister fucked off to.” Robb looked at Theon evenly. “So why don’t we?”

Theon fought off the urge to squirm. Robb had always had the ability to scold Theon in a way that made him feel like he’d been taken to the headmistress’s office. So far, Robb hadn’t taken a yardstick to his ass like the nuns had but Theon knew it was only a matter of time. “I’m working on it,” he said. “I’ve got some leads I’m going to follow up on, but...it’s a big city. He’s got a lot of connections.”

“And you don’t? This is a very high-profile case. You know that. Every eye that matters is looking at us right now to find him, and the longer we go without delivering the worse we look. I’m making every excuse I can but the fact is you need to give me something so I can give it to the Chief and the Mayor.” Robb had a hand in his desk drawer. Theon bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check, relishing the little flair of pain. It wasn’t too late - he could still haul the little bastard in. 

“I am doing the best I can,” he said carefully. “I’ll get some more men together and send them out - they’ll be able to cover more ground than just me.”

“Good.” Robb nodded, but there was still something off about his tone and expression. “I’ve got an idea of where they can start.” Out of his desk drawer, he tossed a notepad on his cluttered desk and jerked his head at it. The apprehension in Theon straddled his chest as he reached for the pad. It wrapped around his throat when he recognized the address scribbled on it as Asha’s club. He rubbed a finger over it. The ink smeared slightly, but it was still there, bold as brass.  _ Shit.  _ When he looked up Robb had crossed to the front of his desk and was leaning on it, arms crossed. In the silence that fell between them thunder grumbled in the distance.

“Why d’you think Asha’s got anything to do with it?” He fought to keep his voice steady.

“One of our informants. He’s worked with us before - on that ring of car thieves, and that embezzlement case. He’s taken a shine to how your sister pours his drinks, spends a lot of time down there. He called me, personally, last night. He’d found a girl there, wanted to spend some time with her. Your sister’s got that little room over her bar - you know about it. Hell, you practically lived up there for a time. He took her up there, opened the door, and you want to guess what he saw?” When Theon remained silent Robb went on, his voice tightening and lowering. That was something he’d picked up from Barristan Selmy before he’d retired. If Selmy was mad at you, you wanted him to yell. If he was quiet and strained, like Robb was now, you may as well pack up your desk. “Tell me what you think he found.”

“I’m guessing he found Tyrion Lannister.” Theon sat up, sick of being talked down to like he was right now.  _ I’m going to kill Asha. I’m actually going to kill her this time.  _ “I’m handling it.”

“You’re  _ handling _ it?” Robb’s expression was incredulous and, yes, angry. “What, exactly, is there for you to  _ handle _ ?”

“Listen, I was just about to go take care of it.” Theon adopted his most charming smile and the placating tone he used to calm Mya down whenever she had her panties in a bind.  _ Not that that’s worked in awhile. _ “Tonight, you and me, we’ll go over to McGillicuddy’s. I’ll treat, and I’ll explain everything-”

“You will sit right where you are and tell me, exactly, what you did.”

“Ok. Alright.” Theon rubbed a hand over his face. His attempts at placation hadn’t worked on Robb in years. Why would that change today? “He came to us for help. Well. Mya. The only place we could stash him was with my sister, he’s on his way out of the city today, and that’ll be the end of it.”

“Except for the heat coming down on me to see him hang for what he did.” There was a vein ticking in Robb’s forehead. “I cannot believe you, Theon.”

“I’ve been getting that impression from a lot of people lately.” 

“What’m I supposed to do now? We can’t just pretend he doesn’t exist, that this never happened.” Robb turned, picking the phone off his desk. “I’m sending some uniforms down to get him. I should’ve done it last night but I wanted to give you a chance to explain.”

Theon stood and snatched the handset out of Robb’s hand. “There’s no need to call anyone. He’s leaving today. In a week, or two weeks, he’ll turn up in a country that we don’t happen to have an extradition treaty with. You’ll tell people we’re trying and trying and eventually there will be some other big story that’ll grab their attention.”  _ I’ll make some other big story happen if need be. Well. Asha will. And then I’ll kill her. _ Robb was still looking like he wanted nothing more than to wring Theon’s neck. 

“Listen.” Theon wrapped his hand around the back of Robb’s neck. “This isn’t as simple a case as it seems, but don’t worry. You, and the department, will come out of it looking fine. Just like always.”

“Like  _ always _ ?” Robb wrapped his hand in Theon’s collar and shoved him against the wall hard enough to make the frosted-glass windows looking over the precinct rattle. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Robb could lift him, more or less, by his neck. A few years back Gendry had taken them to his gym, let them spar a little. Theon had always been faster than Robb, and that day had been no different. He’d managed to duck and weave out of Robb’s way without landing any real blows of his own. Towards the end he’d zigged when he should’ve zagged. Robb, having always been stronger than Theon, landed a blow that had broken three of his ribs and had dropped him to the mat like a sack of rice. Now, Theon was starting to fear for his ribs again, not to mention the rest of his bones. “Have you done this before?”

“ _ No. _ Jesus.” Theon untangled Robb’s hand.. It was true, mostly. There had been a few times where a few distant cousins of cousins had found charges against them mysteriously dropped, or a crucial bit of evidence had gone missing. And it wasn’t always criminals. He couldn't count on both hands how many of Roslin’s parking tickets had gotten lost. Never a big deal. And of course, the tasks he did for his family didn’t count. “I just meant-...nevermind. Listen, I’ll tell you everything once it’s done. Tyrion killing his father wasn’t a black or white thing. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated.” Robb scowled, letting Theon down. He stood before his window, not facing Theon. “Go.”

“Thank y-”

“Leave your badge and gun.”

Theon had been straightening his tie, but his hands suddenly felt like blocks of wood. “What?”

“You heard me. I’ve turned a blind eye to a lot of stuff you’ve done. But I can’t let this slide.” Robb still wasn’t facing him.

“So you’re  _ firing _ me?” Theon heard the panic in his voice. “I know you’re mad, but if you fire me you’re going to have to explain to Seaworth why, and it’s going to just rain shit down on everything.”

“I know that.” Robb finally turned and Theon wished he hadn’t. It wasn’t quite like he was looking at a stranger. A stranger wouldn’t have been half so disappointed. “You’re on leave. Unpaid. As far as Seaworth is concerned I’ll tell him it has something to do with your review, if he even asks. If I told him the truth, which I should, you wouldn’t be able to get a job, even as a night watchman, anywhere on this side of the country.” He paused. “If this was just you, it’d be different. But you’ve got a family to take care of. You know I love them like my own. Your kids will have a hard enough time growing up with the Greyjoy name. I can’t, in good conscience, pile having a disgraced ex-cop for a father on top of that.”

The sounds from the street had spiraled upward to a high-pitched whine. Without realizing Theon had the wallet holding his badge in his hand. It was old, the leather worn and cracked. The badge within was as brilliant and gleaming as the day he’d received it. After the week or so he’d spent with Ramsay Bolton he’d spent hours scrubbing every fleck of blood off it with rubbing alcohol and Q-tips. He’d never let it get dirty again.  _ Not on the outside, at least. _ He cleared his throat. “How long?”

“We’ll start with a week from this coming Monday.” 

Theon relaxed a little. A week was nothing. “A week, then.”

“This is  your last chance. You pull one more stunt like this and…” Robb just shook his head. “You’re like my brother. You know that. But I’ve got responsibilities to this city and to this office.”

Theon had to force himself to remain quiet. Sure, he wasn’t always on the up-and-up but how many times had Robb benefited from that? Hell, if it hadn’t been for his quick thinking after Robb had shot Vargo Hoat, where would either of them be?  _ Now’s not the time, _ a niggling voice said in his head. He sighed, resigned, and tossed his badge on Robb’s desk. After a beat, he set his service piece next to it. He had other guns, of course, and better guns, but he had an odd fondness for this one. “Yeah.” 

Unable to meet his best friend’s gaze he pulled the office door open and left, ignoring the glances he got. Once he was alone in his car he jerkily yanked a cigarette out of his case, fumbling with his lighter. The smoke, normally soothing, did nothing for him this time and after only a few drags he chucked it angrily out the window.  _ We were doing good, _ he thought for the thousandth time that week.  _ We were in a good spot before that little shitstain came along, and you bent over for Asha again. _

And now, he’d lost the trust of his best friend, his career had one foot in the grave, and his wife was only responding to him in monosyllabic words. He slammed his hand against the steering wheel once, twice. Between this nonsense and what Mya’d told him about his sister’s upcoming dealings with Roose Bolton... _ don’t even think about that. Keep out of that. Whatever she does to him is on her...assuming she’s still alive once you’re done with her. _ Some days Theon wished she’d never gotten in touch with him again so long ago.  _ Things would be different. Things’d be normal. _ He rubbed the thick rope of scar tissue just under his collarbone.  _ You wouldn’t have that, would you. Or the others. _

Still fuming, he flicked the ignition and started south towards the  _ Lantern _ ’s office. The midday traffic was a snarly mess, the air thick with humidity and the stench of exhaust. It did nothing to help his mood. He parked the Rolls in the loading zone in front of the newspaper’s office, trotting up the steps. Normally he’d stop and flirt a little with the receptionist at her overly-large desk in the lobby, but today he kept his head down, storming towards the elevators. The newsroom was quiet when he approached it. Mya’s door was open a crack. When he peeked in she was standing at her window, her phone held between her shoulder and ear.

“...no, you  _ didn’t _ tell me you had a half-day at school. None of you did.” She balanced on one foot, scratching the calf of one leg with her big toe. “Alright. Take 15 cents out of your father’s swear jar. That’ll be enough to get the three of you into a double feature down at the picture house. No,  _ just _ the 15. That’ll get you popcorn too. I’m going to count it when I get home. And you watch your brother and sister. Make sure Alyce stays out of the street. I’ll be home as soon as I can. If I’m still not there when you get home you go over to Mrs. Rosenbaum’s. And take an umbrella. It’s going to rain.”

Theon raised his eyebrows as she finished her conversation. She started when she saw him. “You’re early.”

“What was that?” Theon nodded at the phone.

Mya sat in her chair, her eyes focused on a sheaf of papers on her desk. “Rodrik. The kids are on their own this afternoon because all three of them forgot to mention the school closed early for fumigation this weekend.”

“Can’t they go over to Riverrun?”

Mya shook her head and brushed an imaginary spot of lint off her honey-colored blouse. “Rosie’s taking hers to the dentist this afternoon. With the 4 of them and the baby she’ll be there till dinner.” She looked closer at Theon. “What’s wrong?”

He started to reply with “Nothing”, but stopped.  _ She may as well know.  _ “Robb knows.”

She just massaged her forehead. “Of course he does. How?”

“I’ll spare you the details but the gist of it is I’ve got a week’s vacation. Unpaid, of course.” Theon glanced at the clock on the wall. “C’mon, let’s just get this over with.”

“Alright, just let me…” Mya flipped a file closed reached under her desk for her shoes, buckling the straps around her ankles. “Can you fix this with Robb?”

“I dunno. Maybe.” Theon fiddled with his wristwatch. “I’ll give him the weekend. Was gonna see if I could get tickets to the game tomorrow, soften him up, but…” he shrugged. “That ship’s sailed.”

“Let me check with our sports writer. I can’t get you anything for tomorrow, but maybe next week.” Mya stood, reaching for her coat. Theon grabbed it before she could, holding it open for her. The fact that she was speaking to him again was promising. After a slight hesitation, she let him help her slip her coat on. “He thinks I’m pretty so I should be able to flirt you into seats right behind home plate. You’re probably double-parked, so let’s go.”  


* * *

It took as long to get to Asha’s club as it had for Theon to get to Mya’s office, even though it was half the distance. Each time he looked over at her, she was gazing out the window, lost in thought.  _ Probably about what it’d’ve been like if she’d kept Redfort. _ The thought was an ugly little knot in his stomach, green and twisting, but he didn’t try to stave it off. Jealousy ran strong in Greyjoy blood, and he was no exception.

He glanced at the street, silently cursing the milk truck trundling along slowly ahead of him, belching blue exhaust. The smell was nauseating, but closing the windows would be suffocating. Hopefully the rain that was threatening could hold off. 

Theon looked at Mya thoughtfully, rubbing his thumb along her knuckles.  _ Do you ever regret it? _

He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until Mya glanced at him. “What?”

“This...us. Do you ever wish you’d gotten out?” Theon shifted in his seat.

Mya was quiet for a long time, longer than was comfortable. “Sometimes...it’s not that I regret it. But I do wonder what it’d’ve been like if we hadn’t...if I’d left before Rodrik.” She glanced at him and must’ve read his expression. “I know it hasn’t been the easiest run. I still worry every day that your name’s going to float across my desk, or I’m going to get a call that you’ve been found somewhere, or everything’s going to...surface. I’ve thought about what would’ve happened if we hadn’t made it. And I came to a conclusion.”

This wasn’t the response Theon was expecting, or hoping for. It brought an uncomfortable pang of guilt.  _ She shouldn’t have to worry that much.  _ At the same time, a second voice sounded in his head.  _ She  _ chose _ this.  _  “And that is?”

“I’d still worry about your name floating across my desk, or hearing that you got yourself killed somehow. Even if I was on the other side of the country, I’d still worry.” She looked over at him with a small, wistful smile. “Wondering what might’ve happened isn’t the same as regretting what did. Listen,” she turned to face him fully, gripping his hand with both of hers. “I’m not happy with your family. I’m never happy with your family. But I don’t regret joining it. Not a minute of it.”

“You sure?”

After a minute Mya leaned over and kissed him softly. “Positive. I’m not going anywhere. Now stop worrying.”

Theon snorted. “You’re one to talk.”

The sky was starting to spit rain as Theon parked behind Vic’s rusted old clunker in Asha’s alley. 

Normally Asha had a Codd or two posted at the door while the club was open, doing little more than crossing thick arms over thick chests and staring around impressively. As it wasn’t even noon, the club wasn’t open, and the Codds were nowhere to be seen. Frankly, Theon was glad. He’d been a Greyjoy his entire damn life and they still made him spit out the little family passcode.

Mya gripped his hand as they made their way down the dark, narrow hallway. He glanced over his shoulder, hoping his look was reassuring. Mya could live till she was a 105, and she’d never feel comfortable here. Theon had given up on trying years ago.

The only figures in the bar were Asha and Jaime’s hulking she-beast from the funeral. She was dressed in dark trousers and a men’s shirt, open at the collar, and looked far more comfortable than she had in her military uniform. She sipped at a clear drink - water, probably, with a lemon wedge. Her sleeves were rolled up, revealing thick, ropey forearms, and even from here Theon could see how calloused her hands were.  _ She looks like a farmhand.  _

She glanced towards him and Mya, shoulders hunched. Something about her distrustful expression reminded Theon of a whipped dog. Asha followed her gaze. “‘S about time.”

“It’s quarter after eleven.” Theon pointed out. “We said noon.”

Asha didn’t reply, merely wiping out a tumbler with a rag. “Jaime’s upstairs. Said he wanted a few words with his brother.”

“What kind of words?” Mya’s voice sounded small in the dark space. There were windows, thin and high up on the walls. Due to the club’s location, wedged between other buildings, they hadn’t seen sunlight in years, if ever.

"The private kind, I imagine." Asha set three more glasses on the bar, pouring out of a half-full bottle of Theon's favorite white dog. "He didn't volunteer any, nor did his lady love here."

"I'm not his-" Brienne shook her head. "Nevermind." She set her glass down and stood, pulling a pocketwatch out and glancing at it. "I'll go and get them. I want to get out of the bay before that storm hits."

"The bay? You're sailing?" Theon was surprised but after a moment, he wasn't sure why. The woman looked like a longshoreman. 

Brienne gave him a baleful look. "Do you think we drove here from Tarth?"

Asha sniggered and even Mya fought back a grin. Theon glared at the both of them. "No, I know you didn't - listen, just go upstairs, would you? You too, dove. I need a word with my sister."

Brienne had to duck to avoid hitting her head on the low lintel, but she clumped up the stairs without argument. Mya followed, glancing over her shoulder. Theon winked, trying to force confidence he didn't feel and waited until her footsteps had faded before turning to his sister. “You owe me a week’s salary.”

"Oh do I." Asha pulled a cigarette out of the sleek ebony case she'd set on the bar.

“Seventy. Right now.”

Asha snorted and blew a bit of smoke towards him. “You don’t make that much in a week.”

“I’m tacking on an inconvenience fee.”

She laughed this time, tossing back the whiskey Mya'd ignored. “I’ll give you twice that if you give me a good enough story about how  _ I’ve _ inconvenienced  _ you. _ ”

Theon sat on a barstool, taking the glass from Asha and pouring himself a healthy dose. "You were busy last night."

"I was. What about it?"

"While you were busy, pulling in the bread you're going to give to me, one of your customers tried to take a girl upstairs and found the little shit." Asha had started wiping the bar down, and now she slowed. "He didn't say anything?"

Asha shook her head. "He's gone through three of my best single malts. I doubt he was awake."

"Three bottles isn't that mu-"

"Just yesterday."

Theon took another drink, shaking his head."I don’t care if he drank that much this morning. My point is, the customer happens to be an informant with us. So he told Robb, and Robb is less than impressed yours truly at the moment"

“Us?” Asha raised her eyebrows and Theon nearly punched her.

“Don’t get pedantic with me, Ash. Really not in the mood.” Theon pulled out another cigarette and lit it. “He called Robb, who’s halfway up my ass now, going on about suspensions and firing me. And while we’re talking about inconveniencing me,” he added, “that realtor you had me do? Turns out he and Mya knew each other. She found out, and now she’s irritated with me too. Y’know what, bump it up to an even two-hundred dollars or find someone else to do your hits from now on.”

“ _ God, _ alright.” Asha went behind the counter and opened a cashbox with a key she kept around her neck. Peeling off a few bills, she slid them across the bar. “You whine more than all your kids combined. Here. Stop at the five and dime and get some castor oil to dislodge Robb.”

Before Theon could respond he heard the door at the top of the stairs creak open. He tucked the money in his pocket and poured himself some more whiskey.

“For thinking you’re such an intelligent man, you really are dumb as a post, aren’t you.” Jaime came into view, speaking over his shoulder at his brother. He looked irritated and shaken at once.  _ He’s talking to the man that killed his father at the end of the day. _

“So I’ve been told,” Tyrion responded drily. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, looking around blearily. He was still in his wrinkled, stained suit, his hair mussed and his jaw covered in thick stubble. If it hadn’t been for his short stature, Theon thought he might actually be able to wander the city unrecognized. “Repeatedly and, by some, at great length. It really doesn’t bear repeating. Now, shall we go, or would you like to wait until the police catch wind of me?” Theon caught the look Mya gave him over Tyrion’s head. So did Tyrion. “Or is it too late or that?”

Theon smiled grimly. “You keep jawing and it will be.”

“Alright.” Jaime rifled his hand through his hair. “We’re going. Tyrion, you behave, or else Brienne’ll use you for an anchor.”

After all was said and done, Tyrion’s departure from the city was remarkably anticlimactic. Brienne had a cruising sailboat, older, but meticulously maintained, docked away from the other boats in the marina. It was almost comically easy for Tyrion to climb onboard and duck into the cabin below. 

At the last minute, his tousled head popped back up. “I won’t forget this,” he said to Mya. “This isn’t the first time you’ve saved my neck.”

“With any luck it’ll be the last.” Theon muttered, ignoring the slight jab from Mya’s elbow. 

“Where will you go?” she asked. “After Tarth, I mean. I’m assuming you can’t stay there?”

Tyrion shrugged forlornly. “I’ve heard Switzerland is nice this time of year. Argentina. Dorne, maybe. The possibilities for a murdering dwarf who’s probably broke now are endless.”

Mya’s smile was small and a little sad.  “Take care of yourself.”

“I’ll do my best.”

When the boat was unmoored Theon gave it a shove off the docks, watching a bit wistfully as Brienne ordered Jaime around, barking out which line to tighten or loosen. Even though he still had  _ carte blanche _ with Robb’s boat, he still longed for his own someday.  _ He’s not about to let you borrow it anytime soon now. _

Within minute the sails had caught the wind from the looming storm, and the boat vanished around an outcropping of rocks. Theon wrapped an arm around Mya’s shoulders, turning her back towards the car. She hadn’t resisted...that had to be good. Tyrion had gotten off scot free, at their expense. It was going to take a long time to earn Robb’s trust back, if he ever could. And he was going to have a Hell of a time figuring out how to shift the city’s attention away from Tywin Lannister’s murder. He’d figure something out, though. He had to.  _ You will. You always do. _ As for Mya...he’d spent 10 years trying to make things up to her. That probably wouldn’t change, not till the day he died. 

The ride home was quiet. The rain remained intermittent, throwing down a few loud  _ splats _ on the windshield like an angry toddler. Theon pulled onto the Blackwater Bridge, a massive, ornate feat of architecture. Between the thick steel cables spanning the bridge, he could see the river and beyond, the bay. Barges floated up and down the dark water, with smaller boats darting in and out of their wakes. He wondered if the old sailboat would even make the trip back to Tarth...it was a full day’s trip from Kingsport to Tarth, but that was on a ferry. Brienne’s sailboat would be significantly faster.

_ Why does it matter? _ Even as Theon asked himself the question he’d answered it. Boats and sailing were safer topics than Robb or Roose Bolton. He’d have to face those things eventually, but he wasn’t planning on doing it this very second.

_...or maybe I am, _ he thought as he turned onto his street. Robb’s car was parked in front of their house. He sighed, glancing over at Mya. She was looking back at him with the same apprehension he felt. 

“Can you do me a favor?” he asked.

“What?” 

Theon tapped the back of his head. “Right here. Two.”

Mya just smiled and took his hand. “Now, if I do that, who’ll fix the kitchen sink when it backs up?”

In spite of himself Theon laughed once as he pulled into their garage. “Nice to know I’m needed.”

Robb was sitting on the back stoop, leaning against the railing. He’d loosened his tie, and when he saw Theon exit the garage, chucked his spent cigarette butt onto the concrete. For a moment no one spoke, and silence fell, thick as mud. Behind him, Mya cleared her throat.

“Give me the keys. I'll go down to the picture house, make sure the kids are still there…”

Theon nodded once without turning. Mya slipped the keys out of his pocket, but he hardly heard the car back out of the driveway. After a beat, he sat on the steps next to Robb, and neither of them spoke. Faintly Theon could hear the light, airy tune of the neighborhood ice cream truck. Over that, thunder rumbled and the occasional splatter of rain started to grow heavier. Finally Theon stood, sighed.

"Come in, then." Theon held the screen door open. Robb climbed to his feet and followed Theon into the kitchen. The room seemed to chill as he sat at the table.

" 's it done?"

Theon opened the refrigerator and fished out two bottles of beer. Rain started to patter harder against the windows. Rummaging in the resident junk drawer, he found the bottle opener before he answered. "I told you it would be."

Robb scoffed. "I don't even know why I asked. I'm having a hard time believing anything you say right now."

"Look." Theon pulled one of the kitchen chairs out and straddled it. "I know I shouldn't have lied to you. I'm sorry. I said I was sorry." 

"You know you could've come to me." Robb's words surprised Theon. Robb had never so much as worn scuffed shoes to work, much less helped sneak a killer out of the city. "I might've been able to help."

"I didn't  _ want _ you to help. You're the good cop. You're the one who follows the rules to the letter, and you're the one who's gonna wind up Chief of Police someday. And before that happens you'd get every skeleton in your closet dragged out in public. I didn't want to give you any more." Theon took a pull from his beer.

"Chief of Police." Robb snorted. "That job ran my father into an early grave. You really think I want to follow him?" He merely swirled the liquid in his bottle. "Did you really want to spare me or is that just another line of bullshit? You're my brother in all but actual blood, and here you sneak around behind my back like this." Theon remained quiet. Anything he'd say here would just dig his hole deeper. Robb went on. "We were talking about a promotion for you. Seaworth and I. He was willing to look past the mess you made of that Martell interview. That office one down from mine, that was going to be yours."

"And now? You're going to tell him?" Theon's chest was tightening, and growing tighter the longer Robb didn't respond. As a Greyjoy Theon had always had a hard time earning respect from other officers. Robb was the only one who actually thought he earned it.

"I said this morning I wasn't going to." Robb said finally. "If he asks why you're out, Mya's uncle died. You had to go up to the Eyrie for his funeral."

Now it felt like there was an iron band around his chest. "This is why I didn't want to involve you. I don't want you to have to lie for me."

"You'd rather have the alternative?"

"Of course not." Not wanting to rehash this anymore, Theon rubbed a hand over his face. "So now what?"

There was another lengthy pause. "Now you keep your head down for a week. Come back, and you toe the Goddamn line, do you understand me?"

The iron band loosened. "I do..." He chewed the inside of his cheek. "I know you're upset, hurt. And I know you probably want to take me down to Gendry's gym and beat the tar out of me till I stop twitching. But...our kids are like siblings. Rosie and Mya too."

"I know. And I don't want to punish those children for your stupidity. Or Mya's," he added as an afterthought. "Which is why you'll keep coming over for Sunday dinners. We'll keep taking the boys to ballgames. We'll keep suffering through the girls' ballet recitals. As far as they know, nothing happened. We'll keep this between us. And maybe there'll come a day when I don't want to wring your Goddamn neck."

Despite himself Theon smiled crookedly. "You've wanted to wring my neck since we were in grade school." Robb glared at him, and he held up both hands. "Point taken. Like I said this morning. Tyrion's on his way to some country that's not going to extradite him."  _ Because we're not going to ask. _  "And I'm sure my sister will cook up some actual crime to distract the public." Theon had a suspicion it was going to involve Roose Bolton and a shank, a thought that chilled him to the core.  _ Stay out of that one. Completely. _

This time it was Robb rubbing a hand over his face. "I swear to God I should just lock the lot of you up."

Theon laughed, humorlessly. If Robb had any idea of what he did when his family called, what he  _ truly _ did, a neck-wringing would be the kindest thing he could do to Theon. It was a hard, cold truth, but it was a truth all the same.  "You should. You really should."

 


	10. Chapter 10

_ July, 1935 _

Summer was turning out to be a hot, sultry mess. Despite the stickiness in the air, it hadn’t rained in nearly two months and the city had wilted. Theon took a last drag on his cigarette and crushed the remnants under his heel. He was down in the Hook, sweltering, hands shoved in his pockets. It wasn’t a neighborhood he enjoyed being in and certainly not one he frequented. Glancing up at a street sign, its pole bent by some collision or another, he mentally recited the address he’d been given. It was nearby - another two blocks or so. 

The Hook’s street corners and stoops were lined with residents trying to beat the heat. A few fire hydrants had been cracked open, gushing water into the streets. This was one of the shabbier neighborhoods in the city, full of tenements and suffering from the cloying smell of garbage left out on the curbs. He lit another cigarette, hoping the smell of the smoke would mask the stench.

Eyes followed him as he stalked down the sidewalk; curious children, wary old hens, surly teenagers. Theon ignored them all. The hair on the back of his neck prickled as one of the teenagers made a crude joke as he passed. His cronies laughed -  _ Christ, was I that obnoxious when I was young _ ? Theon clenched his jaw and forced himself to keep walking. Sure, he could’ve had the boy on the ground with his badge out in a half second but what good would that do? Word would get back to Robb that there was some copper strutting around the Hook intimidating the good citizens and that was the last thing Theon needed. He chucked his half-spent cigarette in the gutter and swallowed hard.

Theon’s stomach was sour and had been for weeks. Robb was treating him as if he had some sort of flesh-eating disease, and the tension was spilling over at home. He was snapping at Mya and the kids more than usual, far more than he liked. Every time it happened he’d catch the hurt expressions on his children’s faces, no matter how much they tried to hide them. It was one of the worst feelings in the world, right on par with hearing the hushed excuses Mya would make for him. He was busy at work, she’d tell them, or he didn’t feel well. Every time he tried to apologize, the words stuck in his throat. Theon had never liked being made to feel bad, and this was no exception.  _ It’s no one’s fault but your own, pal. _

The fact that Robb was constantly double-checking his work and had him under surveillance didn’t help. Robb hadn’t come out and admitted it, but Theon wasn’t an idiot. He’d seen other officers assigned to go over tasks he’d been given, and suddenly when he’d interrogate a suspect there were at least two other men with him. When he consistently saw the same unmarked car with the same tags and the same driver over the course of what, six weeks now? Even if he  _ was _ an idiot he’d’ve figured that out. He'd managed to stymie his tail by parking his car in front of Gendry's garage and heading inside. The tail was too smart to follow him in, but not smart enough to know that Theon had slipped out the back door to conduct his business. He tried to focus on something good for a chance, and laughed mirthlessly.  _ There’s nothing good about this mess. _

Last week Mya’s brother had scored a huge upset, beating a boxer three times his size and upsetting bookies everywhere, including his. Theon slipped a hand in his pocket, fingering the thick roll of cash he’d won from it. His bookie had groused and grumbled as he'd counted out the bills, glaring as Theon recounted them before he'd folded them up and left. In his pocket was enough to take his family for a month-long vacation. Or Hell, send one of his kids to college.  _ Or pay off that rookie Robb's got up your ass. _

Nah, that was too risky. Anyway, he had other things to take care of tonight. Nestled against the wad of cash was a set of brass knuckles. They were crude and ugly and truth be told he hated using them, but sometimes they were necessary.  _ You don't have to kill this guy, Ash said. Just convince him testifying against Black Loren wouldn't be good for him. Shouldn't be hard. _

The address Asha had given him belonged to an ugly, brick apartment building with cracked steps leading to a scarred door. The hallways inside were narrow and dark, reeking of old booze, piss, and God knew what else. Broken pieces of furniture were scattered here and there, and child's bike was propped against one wall, strangely sad with its chain hanging off. Theon took the stairs two at a time, glancing out the window on one of the landings as he did. The air was hazy, the bay a grey blur and the city faded. The sky was looking angry - roiling clouds turned red by the sunset, but they wouldn't yield any relief from the heat. If anything they’d make it worse.

The apartment Theon was looking for was on the 8th floor. He staggered to the top of the stairs, bent over slightly from a stitch in his side. Behind one door came the sound of someone’s radio turned up too loud. From another, drunken slurring and a glass shattering. Theon ignored it, scanning the numbers on the doors until he found the one he was looking for. Reaching for the doorknob, Theon was startled when the door was yanked open. Staring at him was a man maybe five years older than him. He had a few days' growth on his chin, and the hunted, wary look of a fox scented by the hounds. His clothes were thin and worn, but clean, at least. For a split second he looked surprised to see Theon, then resigned.

"What do you want?" Theon had a feeling he already knew the answer. He shook his head mildly. Best to do this behind closed doors.

"Just a word. I've got a message from a mutual friend of ours." He jerked his head. "You gonna invite me in?"

The man's Adam's Apple bobbed. Realizing he didn't have much of a choice, he stood aside and let Theon in. The apartment was small and dark, the heat nearly suffocating even though the windows were open as wide as they’d go. A wilting, listless plant sat on a ledge in a cracked pot. The furniture in the room was sparse and old. A card table with two mismatched chairs was shoved up against one wall, and a sagging, ugly couch had blankets and a pillow folded up on it. There was a partially closed door across from Theon; he couldn’t see what was beyond it and frankly, he didn’t care. Underneath a threadbare rug, the floor was warped and soft. The entire space was sad, desolate. It looked like it had given up. He had the sudden, worrying thought that this whole building could come down if you looked at it wrong.

The man was fretting, looking frantically around the small space. "Is this about the trial? Listen, I don't  _ wanna _ testify but the DA - he says if I don't give up what I know about Black Loren's car ring he's gonna send me upstate for the next 20 years and I-"

"I don't really give a shit what the DA told you. All I know is what  _ I'm  _ supposed to tell you." Theon's hand slipped back into his pocket, worming its way into the brass knuckles. "So you gonna listen to me?"

The man glanced towards the doorway to the kitchen, eyes suddenly wet. "Listen, you don't gotta do this. At least, not here. Let's go take a walk. Up to the roof maybe. It's cooler up th-"

Suddenly irritated by this man's soft, sad voice, Theon grabbed him by the collar and shoved him up against a rickety bookshelf. A few knicknacks rattled precariously, a framed picture tipping on its side. "What, so I can 'trip' and make my mark down on the sidewalk? Listen, pal, you've been talking to the wrong people and I've been told to put a stop to it." He pulled his hand out of his pocket, swallowing bitterly at the fear in the other man's eyes. "And that's what I'm go-"

"Dad?" A voice spoke from the kitchen door. A child's voice. Asha hadn’t said anything about a kid. "What's going on?"

Theon closed his eyes briefly, slipping his hand back in his pocket before looking over at the kid. It was a girl, seven, if that, in a patched dress that she'd grown too tall for. Her ashy brown hair was in a messy braid, a few strands falling out to frame a face dominated by two overly large, dark eyes. She held a dripping plate in one hand, a dishrag in the other. She looked from Theon to her father and back again. Realization dawned on her face, the kind that no kid her age should ever have. 

Looking at her, Theon found all he could think of was Alyce. She and this girl could be friends, if one lived in a different neighborhood under different circumstances. Hell,  _ he _ could be the one about to get his face beat in by some spineless mook while she watched. What would happen if things went wrong and he wound up killing this guy? Would he take her in like the Starks had taken him in after Ned had helped destroy his family?  _ Fat chance. _ The Starks had rubbed off on him, but not that much.

What was he supposed to do though, beat the girl into submission too? If Euron had been the one to give him this job, he’d’ve said yes.  _ Hell, Euron would’ve blown up the entire building and blamed it on a gas leak. Wouldn’t be the first time. _ The feeling of guilt Theon usually had sequestered in the back of his mind started worming its way forward.  _ It’s too late now.  _

The girl's father squirmed slightly against the bookshelf. "Go on now and run down to the corner store. We're out of bread." The desperation in his voice made Theon feel disgusted, both with himself, and this man who had managed to put himself and his daughter in this situation in the first place. 

"Go on now." The girl didn't move, rooted to the spot in fear. "Ruby,  _ go _ -"

"No," Theon didn't realize he'd spoken. His voice sounded like it was coming out of someone else’s throat. "No, she stays."

"Please, pal," Her father's fingers wrapped around Theon's wrist. "She doesn't need to see this. She's a little girl."

Theon looked at him a long moment, his mind all churning thoughts and bitter anger.  _ You're 35 years old. You’re not a child. No one's got a gun on you, making you do this. You’re not beating a man in front of his kid to keep someone out of jail who deserves to be there. Make your own decisions for once in your Goddamn life. You needed to make a choice a decade ago and you didn’t. You’ve almost lost your marriage and your  _ life _ for this. It’s not worth it. You don’t want to keep doing this. So don’t. If Asha wants any more blood she can spill it herself. I’m done. _ Hands numb, he let the man go, trying not to think too hard on what he was about to do. Loosening his fingers from the brass knuckles, he instead wrapped it around the wad of cash in his pocket and slapped it against the man's chest. Asha was going to string him up, if he was lucky. If he wasn’t... "Go."

The man gawped at him, mouth flapping. "What?"

"You deaf? Go. Take this and get out of the city. Hell, out of the state, even. There's enough there for both of you to start over somewhere that isn't here. Go west until you can't anymore, or north, and change your names. Start over, you got it?"

"I-I..." The man was at a loss for words. He grabbed at the cash feebly, a quiet sound escaping him when he felt its thickness. Theon pushed back the images of everything he could’ve done with the money, instead trying to imagine what it'd be like to be able to look at himself in the mirror and feel proud again, or to maybe,  _ maybe _ earn Robb's trust back. "This...is-"

"Shut your mouth, wouldja? Just get out of here. And forget you ever saw me." He glanced at the girl. "Same goes. Forget my face." She swallowed hard and nodded. "I mean it."

She nodded vigorously, then bit her bottom lip. She was missing a front tooth. "Can I bring my cat?"

Something tugged in Theon's chest and he swallowed the impatient reply threatening to escape. He knelt so he was eye-level with the girl and put a hand on her shoulder. Behind him her father hissed in a breath.Theon couldn’t blame him. If a man as intimidating as he was got this close to his daughter he’d be nervous too. Down on her level he could see the same naivete Alyce had "You can bring whatever you want. You just take care a' your pops, understand? Don't let him do nothin' stupid." 

"Yessir." 

"Why're you doing this?" The man was still staring at the cash in shock. Theon sighed, running a hand over his hair. Why  _ was _ he doing this? 

"I've had a long couple of weeks. And I'm tired," he said. It wasn't a lie, not really. "I'm walking out that door now but I better  _ never _ see your faces in this city again. ‘Cause if I do, then someone else has, and then my sister has. She won't send me to deal with you next time, and she won't be content with your broken jaw." He shook his head, straightening his jacket. “Don’t ever let me see you here again.” The man nodded wordlessly and Theon left him there, starting to feel pretty damn good about himself. He knew Asha was going to be furious, but he had a hard time caring about how she felt. Trotting down the front steps, he lit another cigarette. He had to go see his sister.  


* * *

“What do you mean, you’re done?” Asha was leaning on her desk, fingers splayed. Her blood-red nails were digging into the top, leaving little crescent moons. Her dark gaze was sharp, pinning Theon in his seat in her office. The din of the club rarely pierced the thick walls, and tonight was no exception. The thrum of a bass was audible, but only just. Asha’s office was usually cool, bordering on uncomfortably so, but not tonight. Summer had finally leached in and she was feeling it. Her blouse stuck to the small of her back, and her dark hair was curling slightly in the humidity. It would only add to her agitation. The small windows, high up on the walls, were propped open in a vain attempt to let some cooler air in. It would be a good night to be out on Pyke. As dismal an island as it was, it at least had the ocean breezes.

Asha’s glare made Theon feel chilled to his very bones. He fought off the urge to look away. “I mean I’m done. I’m not doing your hits anymore. And I’m not beating a man with his daughter standing right there. I mean-” He stopped, fingers plucking at a torn spot in the upholstery. “Fuck, Ash. You didn’t tell me there’d be a kid there. It wouldn’t take that much for it to be Alyce watching me beg some stranger to not beat me half to death.”

Something in his tone brought Asha up short. She sat in her old, creaking desk chair. “It wasn’t.”

“Not this time.”

“Theon, I’d never let anything happen to you.”

“You don’t control everyone in the city. The Freys, the Boltons…” Theon trailed off. More than once, he’d had nightmares of finding his children chained to the same filthy, dank wall he’d been, begging for their parents, subjected to the same horrors he’d been. He’d never told anyone about them. Not Robb, not Asha, certainly not Mya. They’d been coming more and more frequently since he’d heard Asha was going to start stirring the pot with Roose Bolton. Sure, the official story was that Theon hadn’t even been conscious when Brynden shot Ramsay, but Theon wagered a simple detail like that wouldn’t matter too much if Roose decided his son was worth avenging.  _ If _ . “I’ve put too much at risk for too long. I need to be able to protect my family and as long as I’m doing this, I can’t.”

Asha gazed at him evenly, her expression hard to read. “We aren’t family?”

Theon rubbed his forehead, frustrated. “Stop it. You  _ are _ family. You are also capable of taking care of yourself. I’ve got four people depending on me to come home each night and if I keep sticking my neck out for you there’s going to be a night where I don’t. I  _ need _ to be there for them.”

She looked at him a beat longer before she pulled her gaze away. “I understand.”

Theon was wary. “You do?”

“Of course I do. Listen, I’m not some kind of ice-hearted bitch. You love your kids. You want to protect yours the same way Pops protected his,” Asha held up a hand when Theon started to retort. “You’re doing better than he ever did. Trust me.”

A stale, hot breeze blew in the windows set high up in the walls. Asha came around her desk and perched on the arm of Theon’s club chair, an easy arm around his shoulders. She wasn’t usually an affectionate sister, but he found it strangely comforting when she was. “Theon, you know if anything ever did happen to you, we’d take care of your family, right? They wouldn’t want for anything.” 

Theon swallowed past a sudden tightness in his throat. “If anything ever happens to me, give Mya enough money to get out of the city. Enough for her to get some place out in the country, with a yard for the kids.”

Asha snorted. “Are you Normal Rockwell now?”

“Just tell me you’ll do it, Ash.” He looked up at her, knowing he was pleading and knowing how weak it made him look.

“I will,” she replied with a mix of exasperation and fondness. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her ankles and propping them up on her desk. Asha was taking this better than he’d thought. Surely he was more important to his family business than she was making out.  _ Apparently not. _

“What’re you going to do about Roose?” The question burst out of Theon before he could stop it. He’d made a conscious effort to dam thoughts of Roose ever since Mya had brought him up.  _Maybe that's why you have your nightmares._

Asha sighed as if she’d been expecting his question. “I don’t know. He’s a threat but if I try to eliminate him and it backfires he will kill every single one of us.” She inhaled on her cigarette, looking pensive. “I”ve thought about it. A lot. I’m not sure it’s worth the trouble. And don’t look at me like that, you know what I mean. Whatever I wind up doing, I’ll tell you.”

“The less involved I get in that, the better.”

“Sure.” Asha nodded and ran a hand through her dark hair. “Listen, if you’re out, fine. I need you to do something for me, though.”

“What?”

“If I tell Uncle Euron you’ve up and left us he’ll put a bounty on your head, kin or not.”

“I know,” Theon said grimly. The thought had been ricocheting around his brain all evening. “At least he won’t be able to do it himself. The second he crosses into this country he’s in prison for a long time.”

“He’s not going to do it, and neither is anyone else, because you’re still useful to us. Or you can be,” Asha hopped off the arm of the chair and went to adjust the window, standing on her tiptoes to crank it open a little further. “If I let you stop doing hits for me, you’ve still got to be my ears in the police stations. If I wind up in jail, Euron’ll have to come back, prison or no prison, because Vic can’t run this business on his own. Neither can Aeron. The two of them together...no one wants that.”

Theon laughed humorlessly. “You always did have a knack for stating the obvious. Alright. I’ll keep feeding you what you need to know when I can. It’s not going to be the easiest - Robb’s got it in for me right now, which is another reason I need to toe the line. I need to keep him happy to keep the status quo. I’ll do my best.”

Asha smiled, a small, sad thing. It was so far from her sharp, cocky grin Theon couldn’t help but stare. It was an expression of defeat. “I know you will, little brother.”  


* * *

Theon’s home was dark when he pulled into the driveway, save for a dim light on the second floor. He took the back steps two at a time, shedding his light coat and tossing it over a kitchen chair. The faint scent of dinner still lingered, making his stomach growl. Jogging up the stairs he walked towards the half-open door to his and Mya’s bedroom, smiling at what he saw there. She was asleep, surrounded by half-edited articles. Her black hair was spread out on her pillow, a pen still in her hand. 

The editor of the life and style section of the  _ Lantern _ had unexpectedly walked out some weeks before, leaving the rest of the staff scrambling to pick up the slack. Mya’d been tapped as a part-time editor for that section as well as her own, and she’d frequently bring things home to work on after the kids had gone to bed. It was wearing her thin, and he felt a pang of guilt. Things had been strained between them. He’d taken to staying at work later and later, having to pick between Robb’s sad, scorned gaze or stilted, short conversation with his family. That, in turn, strained Mya’s patience further and further. Theon couldn’t remember when he’d seen her smile last, or laugh. It was a vicious cycle that, with any luck, was done now.

Theon gathered up Mya’s work, piling it absently on her vanity. Glancing down, he read part of the upside-down headline: “Dornish ambassador resigns…”

_ She mentioned that a few days ago... _ Theon hadn’t really been listening. Now he skimmed the article, which stated little more than that Oberyn Martell had resigned to launch a private investigation into the circumstances of his sister’s death.  _ After this long? Good luck. _ He dropped the sheet of paper back on the vanity and peeled his clothes off, relishing the feel of the cooler air on his skin. Letting them lay in a heap on the floor, he slid into bed next to Mya. Her shoulders were tinged red, the smell of salt in her hair, and he remembered she’d mentioned taking the kids to the boardwalk.  _ You should’ve gone with them. Next time. You’ll make it up to them next time. _

He’d make it all up to them, and to Robb. He brushed his lips across Mya’s shoulder, draping an arm over her waist. She murmured indistinctly, and Theon smiled. There was no need for him to wake her up tonight; he’d tell her everything tomorrow.

A breeze blew through their room, rustling the leaves in the oak trees lining their street and bringing with it the faint patter of raindrops. The smell was the last thing his brain registered before sleep took over.  _ You’ll make it up to them. _

* * *

_ December 23rd, 1935 _

“Are you  _ sure _ Santa knows we’re up here?”

Theon glanced at Mya over Alyce’s head at the girl's question, then in the Rolls’ rearview mirror. Rodrik and Quenton stared back at him guilelessly. At ten and nine now, the ugly truth about Santa was known to both of them. Theon and Mya had bought their silence shortly before Halloween, making them swear they wouldn’t drop the pennies on Alyce. He hadn’t expected any issues from Quent - the boy didn’t have a mean bone in his body. Rodrik… despite all his juvenile posturing, he was deeply protective of his baby sister. Alyce had remained blithely oblivious.

“Of course he does,” Mya said. Alyce was wedged in the middle of the front seat, and looked up at her mother. “We sent him a note, remember? Don’t you worry. Your presents will find you.”

“They better.” Alyce hunkered down between her parents, happily burrowing in her thick winter coat and Theon was able to turn his attention back to the road. They were four hours into the five-hour drive to Winterfell, trudging north on narrow, snowy roads as the afternoon began to dip towards evening. Mya had dropped their Christmas gifts, stacked neatly in old milk crates, to Rosie several days before. She and Robb had taken their brood up yesterday, leaving just after school let out for the winter holiday. The rest of the Starks would be trickling into Winterfell between tonight and tomorrow. For the first time in his life Theon felt anxious about spending this holiday with his foster family. For the first time in over 20 years, he felt like an outsider.

His reconciliation with Robb wasn’t going as smoothly as he’d hoped. The optimism he'd held over the summer had stagnated after Robb’s birthday in September. Much as he did every year, he treated Robb to seats behind home plate and however many beers he’d wanted. The afternoon had gone well - they’d been able to shoot the shit much like they always had, and by the time Theon deposited Robb and the haze of beer fumes around his head back at Riverrun he’d thought he was over the hump.

That had been mid-September. By mid-October, Theon had noticed a marked decrease in how many other officers he had looking over his shoulder. His tail vanished, or at least got a new car. Robb though...he was under more pressure than he had been in years, and it was taking a toll. Even though he’d been in office for less than a year, Stannis Baratheon had started making sweeping changes to the police force. In many precincts, he’d forced out the commanding officer, replacing them with his own handpicked men. Robb had had to fight to keep his job. Roslin had told Mya that the only reason he hadn’t been demoted or set aside was because Stannis had respected Ned. Mya had, of course, told Theon, and he’d felt surprisingly hurt Robb hadn’t told him. He’d decided to just keep his head down instead of confronting his friend. If Stannis was firing officers the last thing he wanted to do was get his name on that list. Amidst all the new captains and sergeants and lieutenants in the force, there was also a flood of new recruits from the academy, and Robb was drowning in it. There had been rumors of another lieutenant coming on board to help manage their precinct. Bile had risen in Theon’s throat the first time he’d heard them.  _ That could’ve been yours. It  _ should’ve _ been yours. _ The empty office the eventual new hire would fill was still empty. Theon didn’t know what he’d prefer - that it remain empty, or that Robb find someone more trustworthy than he was to fill it. Regardless, the office remained dark and locked.   
  
“Pops, are you  _ sure _ Aunt Rosie said it was ok to bring Jeyne?” 

It was Rodrik who’d spoken this time. The Jeyne in question was a reddish-brown pitbull the boys had lured home from the neighborhood junkyard with bits of summer sausage at the end of summer. She’d been bone-thin, missing an ear, and absolutely filthy. Rodrik, Quenton, and Alyce had been enamored. Mya, despite her best efforts, hadn’t stood a chance and the dog had stayed. Theon felt an odd kinship with the skittish, scarred dog. She spent her nights curled up on an old pillow at the foot of his bed

Theon eased off the accelerator, willing the Rolls to stay on the road as it coasted down a snowy hill. “I’m sure.”  _ Sure she threatened me with bodily harm if that dog sets foot in Winterfell... _

Even though it was barely four in the afternoon, the sun was already vanishing behind the old worn hills. Everything was coated in a thick layer of snow, turning purple as twilight approached. The first stars were peeking out as Theon stopped the car in front of Winterfell, eyeing it apprehensively. The enormous flagstone lodge spread out before them, lit up with a warm glow. Theon couldn’t even count how many holidays he’d spent here growing up; lazy summer months on the lake, hunting trips in the fall, nearly every Christmas he could remember.

Mya and Theon climbed stiffly out of the Rolls while the kids raced towards the front porch. Before they made it halfway there the door burst open. Eddie and Beth, Robb’s two oldest children, charged out, whooping and hollering. Jeyne hung back, looking anxiously from Theon to the children and back again. He reached down and scratched behind where she had a ridge of pink scar tissue instead of an ear. “They don’t bite.”

“You’d never think they all just saw each other yesterday,” Mya remarked. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, black as night against the winter white of her scarf. She looked beautiful, he thought, not for the first time. When he’d told Mya he was stopping working for his sister she’d been elated. She’d burst into tears, as a matter of fact. That day they’d sent the kids over to Riverrun, both called in sick, and they’d spent the day in bed. 

Now she fiddled with the collar of his jacket, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him. The kids had vanished inside the house, leaving them alone. He rested his hands on her hips and let the kiss linger, the winter cold starting to fade away. After a moment she pulled away, cheeks red. “Let’s go in. It’s freezing out here and Rosie’s waiting.”

The inside of the house was as welcoming as the outside. Most of the first floor was one huge open room, all pine and stone, with a dining room and kitchen off to one side. A fire burned in a hearth big enough for Theon to walk into, and one corner was dominated by an enormous Christmas tree.The kids were sprawled in front of it, one of them having already pulled old Christmas books down from the oversized bookshelf lining one wall. Some delicious smell wafted out of the kitchen, along with Roslin, who was balancing four mugs in her hands. She beamed when she saw the two of them. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it up before dinner.”

“We made good time,” Mya replied. She passed one of the cups over to Theon with a smile. He glanced around the large room, distracted. Everyone was accounted for except...   _ Where’s Robb? _

“He’s on the back porch,” Rosie said before Theon could open his mouth. “Here, take him a hot toddy. He needs it.”

Robb was leaning on the balcony railing overlooking the snowy yard, lost in thought. The grounds at Winterfell sloped downward in a wide swath, ending at the shore of a frozen lake. Centuries-old pine trees lined the yard, tall and dark and silent. The air was bitter cold. Theon sipped his drink, grateful for the sweet, warm brandy. Jeyne slunk out next to him, leaning against his leg. Even though the kids called her theirs, she was Theon’s dog and had been from the start. 

The scourging winter air bit into Theon’s lungs. He welcomed it. Robb hadn’t seemed to notice him. He wasn’t wearing a coat. His shoulders were hunched, his hands dangling over the railing.  For a long moment neither of them spoke. Theon wasn’t even sure if he could - this was the first moment he’d had alone with Robb in months.  _ What do I say? _

Finally Robb reached over and took one of the glasses, still staring out into the deepening evening. “Rosie know you brought the dog?”

Theon shrugged. “Probably not. She’ll figure it out.”

Robb almost laughed, letting Jeyne sniff at his fingers. “She’s not pretty, is she.”

“No, but I’ve always had a weakness for redheads.” Theon’s stomach began to unclench. This was what he missed, this casual back-and-forth. 

Robb gave Jeyne a gentle scratch. “What’re we drinking to?”

Theon thought. “1936? 1935 was a shit year.”

Robb snorted. “That it was.”

“I know I didn’t help matters any.” Theon set his glass on the railing and rubbed the back of his neck. “With...everything.”

“You really didn’t.” Robb glanced at him. “So whatever happened to him, anyway?”

There was no need to ask who “him” was. Tyrion Lannister’s name had faded from the presses, just like he’d hoped. It had happened quicker and quieter than he’d imagined. Whatever stories that mentioned him were small, insignificant. That had been Mya’s doing - she’d been sidelining stories on him as often as she could. Tywin Lannister’s death would soon be consigned to their cold case files, and would give the city’s elites and gossips a scandal to wag their tongues over. It would be a blight on the police department, sure, but it wasn’t the first and certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Theon sighed. “He’s in Dorne with his niece. He’s in Switzerland with a new woman on his arm every night. He’s dead in the jungle somewhere. Take your pick.” Another silence hung heavy between them. “I’m sorry. For all of it.” 

“I know you are,” Robb replied. “Doesn’t mean I still don’t want to wring your neck. But,” he paused, “the past is the past. You can’t change what you did, and neither can I.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “This job is killing me.”

“I know, pal.”

“Which is why I need you to help me do it.”

Theon eyed his hot toddy. Roslin had gone a little heavy with the bourbon, but he shouldn’t be hearing things. “I’m sorry?”

“I said in the spring that Seaworth and I’d been talking about a promotion for you.”

“Yeah, but…” Theon trailed off. “I didn’t think that was still in the cards.”

“It wasn’t for a long time. But there are already enough of Stannis’s cronies crawling around the city and I’ll be damned if I have another one of them undermining me every time I go against the grain. I’ve talked to a few other officers, some from outside the city. Last month Seaworth gave me till the end of last week to make a decision. I didn’t like any of these other schmucks, so you start on the second.”

Theon could count on both hands all the times in his life he’d been speechless. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Most people would be down on their knees thanking their lucky stars for another chance.” 

Theon tried for a charming smile, but it felt hollow. He hadn’t actually thought he had a shot at that empty office. “I’m not most people.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Robb grumbled. “Do you want the job or no?”

Half a hundred responses came to mind, ranging from smugness to gratitude but they all felt forced. He let them scatter in his mind, his smile feeling more natural. “Sure thing, pal.”

Robb smiled. It was the first time Theon had seen Robb look hopeful in months. It mirrored the warm glow staring in his stomach. This was how things should be. Robb and him, side by side in whatever they did. Before he could say anything, the French doors behind them swung open.

“And what’re you two doing out here?” Roslin smiled as she and Mya stepped onto the porch. Jeyne shrunk against his legs, and he reached down to scratch the pink ridge of scar tissue where her ear had been.

“Talkin’ shop,” Theon replied. Mya was already shivering, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She wrapped her hands around her own mug and looked up at him, silently questioning. He gave a tiny shake of his head, instead turning his attention back to Rosie. “What’re you doing out of the kitchen?”

She swatted at him good-naturedly. “I had to get away from  _ your  _ kids. They’ve been here ten minutes and already they’re driving me crazy.”

“Oh, they are not. You adore them,” Mya said. “Why don’t you two come in? It’s freezing out here, and Rosie’s almost got dinner ready.”

“Robbo here wanted to do a toast,” Theon nodded at Robb. “Go on.”

After a minute, Robb raised his steaming mug. “To tomorrow.”

Theon met Robb’s gaze over Mya’s head. Their eyes met, a lifetime of emotions passing between them. For so long he’d felt as though a piece of him wasn’t sitting right, a gear wasn’t meshing. Looking at his best friend, feeling his wife next to him, and even seeing the glow on Rosie’s cheeks...Theon knew his pieces had finally all fallen into place. He raised his mug. Mya and Roslin followed suit. “To tomorrow.”


End file.
